


A Taste in the Air

by Aoidos



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-03
Updated: 2014-01-27
Packaged: 2017-12-25 12:54:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 22,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/953349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aoidos/pseuds/Aoidos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur and Eames have always been best friends. But when Arthur gets his first heat at 18 things change, and he’s not happy with the way Eames seems to transition from ‘Best Friend’ to ‘Alpha’.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Arthur and Eames have been friends since they were little kids when they used to play in the woods and catch frogs down by the creek. Arthur used to beg his mom and dad until he was blue in the face for permission so Eames could sleep over—except, they never really slept. They’d laid awake for hours staring at the glow-in-the-dark stars speckled across Arthur’s ceiling and talk about everything—the other kids in their class, their hopes and fears. 

All of that should have changed as they grew older and Eames started hanging out with the popular kids. He joined the football team, and the coaches figured out they had a star on their hands when the kid turned out to be lightning fast, and started to set all kinds of school records. If their lives were a movie, that would have been the moment when Eames ditched Arthur, the quiet, bookish nerd of the class, and moved on to his new, better life.

But that never happened. Eames still comes over to his house every day after school and they hang out, play video games, and talk. It’s weird for Arthur, who generally considers himself to be a bit of reject, to be friends with the Eames—the same guy girls gush over and all the popular guys respect. He knows a different side of Eames, though—the goofy, sensitive side—the secretly-in-love with hip hop and deeply-in-love-with-films sides. They can be stupid and sincere around each other, and that’s why it works. Eames relaxes and Arthur grows confident when they’re in each other’s presence.  
"Heather was eye-humping you today," Arthur says as they play Grand Theft Auto on his Xbox. 

Eames snorts. “That girl. Man, don’t even get me started.”

Heather is the most popular girl in their class. She’s head cheerleader, gorgeous, and she also, weirdly enough, happens to be very nice to everyone—including Arthur. 

"What’s wrong with her?" Arthur asks, genuinely curious. Heather has social carte blanche to mean girl anyone she wants, especially a bottom-dweller like Arthur, but she never does. He’s always secretly admired that about her. If Eames dated her, they’d be a power couple for sure.

Eames shrugs. “Not my type,” he says vaguely right before he crashes into a wall. “Fuuuuck,” he groans and drops the remote. “Let’s get something to eat.”

***

Things get weird on Eames’ eighteenth birthday. His parents give him permission to hold a party in the backyard, and the football team comes over to build a big bonfire. It feels like the entire school is there, and Arthur wonders if he should leave the second he steps onto the property. Eames is no doubt being inundated with well-wishers. He should just stop by tomorrow, after things have calmed down, to wish him a happy birthday and give him his present.

Arthur cradles the small, wrapped box against his chest, turns, and starts to walk back to his house. 

"Arthur!" he hears suddenly, and when he glances over his shoulder, he sees Eames pushing through the crowd, walking towards him.

He smiles and waves, and as Eames gets closer, he realizes his friend is wasted. “Woah, been celebrating?” he laughs, grabbing Eames’ elbow to help steady him.

"Shh..don’t tell my parents," Eames slurs, grinning wickedly at Arthur. "C’mere," he says and grabs Arthur by the hand, pulling him around to the other side of the house where there aren’t any people. "Fucking hell. I hate parties,” he says once they’re concealed in the shadows. 

Arthur grins and holds up the wrapped box. “Here,” he says and hands it to Eames. “It’s Casablanca. Because you can’t call yourself a real film buff until you’ve seen it.”

"Fucking hell," Eames laughs. "Let me open it first, you nerd.”

Arthur laughs and bows his head, his cheeks flushing slightly. Shit. “Oh yeah. Sorry. Well…yeah. Happy birthday.” 

He watches Eames tear away at the wrapping paper and then pause to look at the cover. Eames is quiet, and for some reason, he looks serious. When his friend looks back at him, all the mirth is gone from his eyes, and he stares at Arthur for a moment. “You look nice,” he says quietly, almost like he had meant to keep the thought to himself.

Arthur instinctively, self-consciously touches his hair. Before he came over, he put in his contacts and pulled on a new blue sweater his mom got him from the Gap. His hair has gotten a little too long over the school year, but he sort of likes the way it falls in waves around his face. “Uh…thanks,” he says quietly, wondering why the compliment causes his stomach to tense up.

Eames drops the DVD to the ground and Arthur gasps when suddenly he presses against him and pins him against the side of the house. He thinks maybe Eames is just fucking around at first until the taller boy kisses him, and then Arthur’s eyes bulge open and he presses his hands to Eames’ shoulders to shove him backward. “What the fuck?” he gasps, glancing around just to make sure no one saw that. 

Eames looks weird. His eyes are glassy and he’s breathing heavily. “Sorry,” he slurs, and for the first time Arthur wonders if something besides alcohol is affecting him. “You just…you smell different,” he says randomly. Arthur quirks a brow at him. He hadn’t put on any aftershave or cologne. What the hell was wrong with Eames?

"Happy birthday," he mutters and storms off. Eames doesn’t try to stop him. For some reason, he feels angry. He doesn’t understand what just happened. Was that some kind of stupid joke? Had someone dared Eames to fuck with him? Once he’s inside his house, he realizes, no, that’s not possible. Eames would never mess with him like that. Arthur kicks off his shoes and trudges upstairs, and after he strips down to his boxers and lays in bed, he listens to the sounds of the party outside for a long time.

What the hell is wrong with Eames?

***

The next day, his chemistry lab partner, Kevin, comes over to review for their mid-term. Kevin is, next to Arthur, the smartest kid in class, and they’re a formidable studying team. He’s also the closest thing to a friend, besides Eames, that Arthur has. Soon they’ll go off to college, and the two of them are pretty much guaranteed spots at some of the top universities in the country. Arthur is just waiting to hear back about scholarships he’s applied for because there’s no way his parents can afford to send him to Harvard out-of-pocket.

Arthur sits at his desk, hunched over a textbook, while Kevin sprawls out in his bed.

"Mister Kesler sucks," Kevin says randomly, eyeing their review outline.

Arthur snorts and looks up from his book. “The worst,” he agrees, and they’re still chuckling over that private little joke when Eames throws open the bedroom door. He blinks in surprise, and Eames looks from Arthur to Kevin, who freezes in place on the bed.

"Get the fuck out," Eames growls, pointing at Kevin.

Kevin looks like he just may shit himself, and suddenly, Arthur is furious—and confused—but mostly furious. “Eames! What the fuck?” he cries, standing up, but Eames is already stalking toward Kevin, grabs him by the back of the neck, and throws him to the floor. That’s when Arthur realizes Eames means to kick his ass. He rushes forward and stands in front of Eames. “Eames!” he shouts, and that snaps him out of it long enough for Kevin to grab his stuff, and sprint from the room, down the stairs, and out the front door.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Arthur shouts and shoves Eames’ chest.

"Arthur, honey, is everything okay?" he hears his mom call from downstairs.

He hurries over to the door and calls out,”Yeah mom!” and closes the door behind him. When he wheels around, Eames still looks strange. He’s breathing heavy again and staring at the bed—at the spot Kevin was on a second ago. 

"Why was he on your bed?" he asks, his voice pitched low.

Arthur is so baffled and angry he can’t speak for a second. “We were studying!” he finally cries, throwing his hands up into the air. “What’s been going on with you lately?” he seethes as he stalks over to his desk and rearranges his papers. He can’t look at Eames right now, he’s so angry. First he kisses him at his party, and then he bursts into his room and scares the shit out of Kevin. He’s terrified because, as stupid and lame as his life is, the one thing he could always rely on was Eames, and Eames’ friendship, and now that’s gone, and he feels like he’s lost his anchor.

Arthur can actually feel it when Eames approaches his back, like a magnetic pull. Eames slides his arms around his waist and buries his face against the side of his neck, kissing and inhaling desperately like they’d been separated years instead of a few hours. Most upsetting of all, Arthur is seized by the desire to arch his neck to the side and grind backwards into Eames’ embrace.

But he doesn’t. He squirms so he can turn and shove Eames away again. “Fuck!” he cries, scared because Eames has never been like this. Part of his brain still thinks the other young man must be messing with him because his personality changed overnight. Eames doesn’t say anything. He just stands there, staring at Arthur so intensely that he feels naked under the scrutiny of his gaze. “You should go,” Arthur says quietly, afraid, but more than that, confused by a sudden impulse that seizes him— the desire to slowly lower himself to his knees and bow his head.

The air in the room seems to thicken and time grinds to a halt as they stare at each other. Finally, finally, Eames whispers, “Fine,” and leaves the room.

It’s only when he goes, and shuts the door behind him, that Arthur breathes again.


	2. Chapter 2

Arthur avoids Eames the rest of the week—not just because the other kid is totally weirding him out, but because Arthur is uncomfortable with how  _he_ feels lately around him. He tries not to think about that night at Eames’ birthday party, or when Eames stood in his room, breathing heavily—powerful and possessive.

Right. He’s not thinking about all of  _that_ stuff.  

He spots Eames a couple times between classes, but Arthur keeps his head down and hurries to the next room. He knows Eames is looking for him—he can practically  _feel_ the young man’s gaze at his back, but he refuses to slow down or look back.

It works, for a little while at least, until one night.

Arthur is laying in bed, arms folded behind his head as he looks at the glowing star stickers on his ceiling. They’re a little faded now, but he can still make them out. Ever since that evening in his room, he’s felt…odd. He can still imagine the weight of Eames at his back, and even stranger, he hasn’t felt comfortable around Kevin since their last disastrous study session. Whenever he looks at his friend, he feels guilty for some reason, and then he grows aggravated. He should’t have anything to feel anxious about.

Arthur knows he can’t tell anyone about how he’s feeling because he’s fairly certain no one will understand—no one except Eames, anyway. He doesn’t know much, but he’s certain Eames is feeling just as lost and confused.

He misses Eames so much sometimes it’s hard to breathe, but he can’t see his friend. Not yet. Not when he doesn’t understand what’s happening, and Eames seems so out of control lately.

He hears a noise outside his window, and when he leans up onto his elbow to part the curtains, Arthur sees a small pebble ricochet off the glass. Then another one. When he sits up to peer outside, he sees Eames standing outside. _What the hell_.

Eames waves up at him when he sees Arthur’s face in the window. He hesitates for a moment, but eventually unlocks the hatch and pushes up on the glass. 

"What?" Arthur hisses, afraid he’ll wake up his parents if he shouts too loudly.

“ _Arthur_ ,” Eames breathes, like he’s infinitely relieved just to see him. The tone in his voice does something funny to Arthur’s stomach again, but he reminds himself he’s pissed, so he scowls at Eames instead.

"What do you want?"

Eames gazes up at him, wide-eyed, mouth agape, like he forgot what he wanted to say. When Arthur moves to shut the window, he snaps out of it and holds out his hand. “Wait,” he gasps. “I…I just needed to see you.”

"Why?" Arthur snaps, annoyed. He’s going to get in trouble if his parents catch him talking to Eames this late, especially considering the commotion Eames caused in his house the last time he visited. His mom is still giving him weird looks over  _that_ event.

"I just…can we talk? Please?" Eames pleads, and something in his tone makes Arthur pause. There’s a slight tremble in his voice, and when Arthur looks closer, he sees that his friend is pale—sickly, even. Something is very, very wrong with Eames. Arthur doubts he’d even be able to fall back asleep at this point, and after a soft sigh, he gestures to the back of the house.

"Meet me in the backyard."

***

Arthur pulls on a sweater, puts on his glasses, and as quietly as possible, makes his way downstairs and into the backyard where Eames is already standing and gazing eagerly at the door like an abandoned puppy.

The second Arthur steps outside onto the porch and closes the door, Eames approaches him, but stops in his tracks when Arthur backs away and holds up his hands defensively. He looks so dejected that Arthur immediately feels guilty, which in turn makes him angry.  _He_ hasn’t done anything wrong. Eames is the one who barged into his room like a psycho and scared Kevin. Arthur is probably going to have to switch lab partners and he’ll likely flunk his chemistry mid-term, thanks to Eames and his weirdness.

"What do you want?" he asks again, arms crossed over his chest, partially for warmth, but also because he’s feeling slightly intimidated being alone with Eames. He can’t look directly at his friend, so he looks to the side slightly—over his shoulder, and of course Eames notices immediately.

"Look at me," he says softly, and even though it’s an order, to Arthur’s ears, it sounds like Eames is pleading, and that makes something ache deep inside his chest.

Eames is indeed pale, and his cheeks are slightly sunken in a way Arthur hasn’t seen since he was cutting weight for football. Despite the chilly night air, there is a sheen on his brow as though he’s overheated. Maybe he has a fever. Maybe Eames has been sick this whole time, and Arthur is a terrible friend, and he’s been avoiding him when Eames needs help. It’s this thought that keeps him rooted in place when Eames approaches again, and spurs him to reach up and touch the young man’s brow and his cheeks to see if he has a fever.

His skin is extremely hot and Arthur frowns, concerned. “Eames, you should be in bed,” he says, but Eames simply shakes his head in answer.

"No…had to see you."

Arthur doesn’t understand. What was so important that it couldn’t wait? Suddenly, Eames grasps his hand and brings Arthur’s wrist to his lips and kisses across his pulse gently. Arthur freezes, unable to move, as he watches _his friend_  press his nose against the skin and inhale deeply. He wants to ask Eames what’s going on—why he’s acting so strangely, why everything changed between them overnight.

But suddenly, the backyard lights turn on and Arthur’s father is at the door. Arthur snatches his hand away from Eames’ face and quickly backs up, reality slamming into him like a freight train. Something has been happening lately when he’s around Eames. He gets sucked into this vortex where he feels safe, and warm, and he never wants to leave. But that thought frightens him. He thinks maybe he could spend every second of the day with Eames and be perfectly content, but it’s in a different way than it was when they were simply friends.

Lately, the hang out time he wants includes stripping off his clothes and rubbing against Eames. 

"Arthur," his dad says, glancing from his son to Eames.

"Hey," Arthur says softly. "We’re just talking," and the excuse sounds weak even to his own ears.

Clearly, his dad isn’t buying it either. “It’s late. You can talk to Eames tomorrow.”

The whole time, Eames never stops looking at him, and Arthur wonders if he’s even aware his dad is standing  _right there_. 

His dad tries again: “Eames, son. Go home for the night, okay?”

Eames just keeps looking at Arthur, and finally, as a last attempt to end the terrible awkwardness of this situation, Arthur pipes up: “Go home, Eames.” Eames stares at him like he’s hypnotized, and Arthur casts a concerned look his father’s way. He doubts Eames will leave unless he promises to meet him later. “We can talk tomorrow,” he amends, and just like that, the spell is broken.

Eames swallows thickly, but he nods before obeying—descending the steps and walking across the backyard in the direction of his house. Arthur stares at his back, stunned and feeling a bit like he’s in a zombie movie, or something. He half-expects his father to say  _remember to destroy the brain_ , but when he looks back to the house, his dad is staring at him with open concern.

His father steers him back into the house, hand resting comfortingly between Arthur’s shoulder blades, and he notices his mom is also awake and standing in the kitchen.

"I’m sorry—" he starts to apologize, but she quickly smiles.

"Honey, it’s okay. Is everything all right with Eames?"

Arthur is momentarily stunned. He’d been prepared to be chewed out by his parents for being up so late because they’re  _always_ strict about that stuff, but not this time. “Uh…yeah,” he says, standing there awkwardly as he glances back and forth between them.

"Go to bed, kiddo. You need to rest," his dad says, and Arthur nods a little before waving to his mom and climbing the steps.

But he pauses at the top of the stairs by his bedroom door to eavesdrop on them. Something is wrong—with everyone, including himself, but he doesn’t know what.

"I don’t want him to see that boy anymore," he hears his father say, and though he keeps his voice pitched low, it still easily travels up the stairs.

"They’re friends," his mom responds weakly.

"It’s dangerous, Hilary," his father responds—tone sharp and uncompromising. He’s never heard his father sound so angry or scared, and that in turn frightens Arthur. 

He hurries into his bedroom and carefully closes the door so it doesn’t make any noise shutting. Arthur sits on the edge of his bed and stares down at his hands, thinking. What’s dangerous about Eames? They’ve been friends for ages, and nothing has been weird or scary. He tries to put together the pieces: Eames being sick, Eames touching him more, Eames nearly tearing out Kevin’s throat.

The only conclusion he can reach is that Eames is going insane, but why would it happen overnight? Eventually, he lays down and stares at the wall a long time, but for some reason he can’t fall asleep. He’s not even tired, though he does feel a little warm. He wonders if he’s catching whatever Eames has.

Arthur sits up and parts the curtains, and when he looks down, he sees Eames standing in the same spot, looking up at the window.


	3. Chapter 3

When Arthur wakes up the next morning, his sheets are soaked with sweat, and he quickly discovers he can’t sit up, or respond to his mother when she calls up the stairs to say he’s going to be late for school. He grips the windowsill and tries to pull himself up, but the second he does, the room swims and he collapses back to the mattress. His skin is burning, and even though he’s wearing nothing but boxers, he still feels much too hot. Arthur wants to rip the last vestiges of clothing from his body, but he’s afraid his mom will walk in and see him naked.

Instead, he places his hands across his chest and feels the racing rhythm of his heart. Something is wrong. He tries to call out, but his jaw locks, and he can only moan pitifully. His vision darkens at the edges and he feels like he’s sinking into the bed. 

He’s dying, he knows he’s dying… 

Arthur only remembers what happens afterwards in snippets. Someone grabs his ankles and wrists, pinning him to the bed, and he thrashes in response. Vaguely, he recalls his father and mother’s voices, telling him to lay still—to not struggle, or he’ll hurt himself. 

"It’ll be over soon," his father whispers, but the words don’t comfort him because he doesn’t know what  _it_ is. He doesn’t understand what’s happening to him.

All he can think the whole time is he wants Eames. No, he  _needs_ Eames, and he must be saying that aloud because he hears his father say, “I told you. I told you that boy is trouble.” But that confuses him further. His father has never expressed disdain for Eames the whole time they’ve known each other.

"Shh, baby. It’s okay," his mother soothes as she cradles him and presses a cool washcloth to his face. "We have to tell him," she says, and if his father answers, Arthur doesn’t hear it because he slips into darkness again.

He dreams of Eames for ages—chasing him, never getting close enough to touch him. He charges through a field toward the other young man, but he always seems to pull further away. 

When he comes to, his face is hot and wet from the tears pouring down his face uncontrollably. He sobs into his mother’s lap because he desperately wants Eames and knows he can’t see him. He’s horrified to find that his cock is hard, and he tries to hide the erection by rolling onto his stomach, but when he moves, the trails of fluid between his legs leak south and cause his boxers to stick uncomfortably to his ass.  Arthur tries to draw the sheet over his body, but can’t because the bed has been stripped of everything except the base sheet. 

"Are the doors barricaded? He’ll try to get in if he smells him," his father says, and when Arthur looks up he sees him peering through the blinds above his window. "He already threw himself against the back door, but I think he’s gone for now."

"Eames," he croaks once he comprehends his parents are discussing the young man. Eames is trying to find him. He wants to crawl down the steps, onto the lawn, and lay there until the other young man finds him. Somehow, he knows Eames would be able to find him if he could just  _move_. His mother smooths her cool hand against his brow again, trying to quiet him, but he pulls away from her touch. “ _Eames_ ,” he says again, more insistently this time, but they ignore him, and he soon falls into darkness again.

He only awakes periodically when his stomach cramps, which Arthur copes with by curling into himself and whimpering. He’s never felt anything like this—there is a pulsating ache deep inside his body. “Mom,” he whispers, and he’s mildly comforted when he realizes she’s still there, in the exact same spot, to coo and stroke his face. She must have been sitting on the bed with him for hours, or perhaps days. 

Arthur closes his eyes. He again wonders if he’s dying, and when another wave of pain washes over him, he thinks maybe death wouldn’t be so bad.

***

The next time he wakes, his vision has cleared and when he looks down, he sees someone has dressed him in fresh pajamas. Arthur sits up slowly and swings his legs off the bed. His muscles are tight, and he takes a moment simply to stretch out his limbs. His cellphone is on his desk charging, and when Arthur turns it on, he stares at the home screen for a bit, trying to process what he sees. It’s  _Wednesday_ , which means he’s been in bed for two days.

He puts on his glasses and slowly walks out of his room and down the stairs, his joints and muscles still stiff. When he reaches the ground floor, his parents are seated in the living room waiting for him.

"Hey, baby," his mother calls, smiling thinly. They both look exhausted. 

"Hi," Arthur says softly. His parents are seated in their usual spots whenever they want to confront him about something, which isn’t often. They staged an intervention once when his grades slipped a bit in physics and another time when he accidentally scratched the side of his dad’s car pulling into the garage. The point is: his parents rarely feel the need to team up against him. Whatever is going on, it must be big.

"Why don’t you sit down?" his mom prompts, which seals the deal in Arthur’s mind. Yup, he’s dead. He’s done something terrible and unforgivable, but other than almost dying, he can’t imagine what that might be.

Arthur walks into the living room and sits down heavily on the couch, sighing before he looks at his parents. 

"How’re you feeling?" she asks, probably to break the ice and Arthur shrugs in answer. He feels better, but it’s a little disorienting to lose two days of his life for reasons he doesn’t understand.

"Must have had the flu," he mumbles when it becomes clear his parents are looking for a verbal response.

His dad sighs and moves to sit on the edge of the couch, hands clasped before him in the way that means he’s really gearing up to unleash on Arthur. He shifts on the couch, face warming in anticipation.

"We, uh…wanted to discuss what happened to you, the past couple days," he says and Arthur looks at him, surprised. Okay, so this isn’t about his grades or sneaking out to meet Eames the other night. When he doesn’t say anything immediately, his dad continues: "You were in heat."

Arthur blinks and glances to his mother, who looks pale and frail. “Heat?” he asks, unfamiliar with the word.

His father clears his throat, and it occurs to him that his parents are as uncomfortable discussing this subject as he is being on the receiving end of it. “You’re an omega, son. Do you know what that means?”

Arthur thinks back to sex ed. They’d learned a bit about ABO dynamics, but not much. ABOs are rare—less than five percent of the population, and omegas are even rarer. But even though he’s heard the terms and learned a bit of the biology, he still can’t process what his father is telling him: he’s an omega. He was in heat. 

Apparently, his father takes his continued silence as an indication he needs to extend the explanation. “And Eames is a alpha,” he clears his throat and turns his wedding band around his finger— a nervous tick. “That’s why I asked him to leave the other night. It’s not safe for you two to be around each other, Arthur.”

Slowly, the reality of the situation begins to dawn on him. He remembers the charts and graphics of alphas and omegas in their sex ed pamphlet—alphas mate omegas and impregnate them. Words like  _scenting_ and  _bonding_ pop into his brain, and he flashes back to the porch when Eames gently nuzzled and kissed his wrist, and how calm and serene he’d felt. Fragments of memories rush back: Eames standing at the window, his parents frantically discussing barricading the doors in hushed voices.

Eames is trying to find him because he wants to  _mate_ with him.

"This is a really tough situation," his mom says suddenly. "Honey, you have to understand, you two can’t be around each other."

Panic seizes Arthur when he finally understands what his parents are saying. “So, like, I can never see him?”

His father sighs. “Arthur, you have to understand. Eames could attack you. He wouldn’t even be in his right mind.”

What Arthur can’t say is  _maybe he wouldn’t be attacking me_. Last night, he would have welcomed Eames’ touch—even if it meant they would…well…obviously, he can’t say that to his parents. He shrugs instead. “Eames would never hurt me,” he says because that’s true. The Eames he knows would never attack him.

"Look, obviously we’ll need to work something out with Eames’ parents," his father says, rubbing at his jaw in a way that indicates he’s about reached the limits of his patience. "But you’re not to see him. It’ll just be for a few more months, or so, and then you’ll leave for college."

 _College. Christ._ He hadn’t even thought to check the mail where there may be acceptance letters waiting for him. Arthur can’t even wrap his mind around the idea of that, though, because he feels horribly sick at his father’s declarations. It’s not just that he’s grown up with Eames as his best friend. There’s something else. He feels like he’s missing a limb when his friend isn’t around, and the idea of never seeing him again makes him want to curl up and sleep for a very long time. 

He can tell by his parents’ expressions, however, that the topic of Eames isn’t up for negotiation. Arthur simply nods in response, indicating acquiescence, though he doesn’t feel it in his heart. He’ll find Eames later, maybe once things have calmed down, and they’ll figure this out together. Even though he now possesses the knowledge that he’s an omega and his friend an alpha, Arthur doesn’t understand the concerned expressions on his parents’ faces. More than concerned, actually. They look  _afraid_.

Arthur isn’t afraid, though. Even if Eames is an alpha, it doesn’t mean his friend would ever hurt him.


	4. Chapter 4

Arthur waits a whole week before he has an opportunity to sneak off and find Eames. It finally happens when his parents go grocery shopping, and he knows for a fact Mr. and Mrs. Eames are out too because their car isn’t in the driveway. Of course, that might mean Eames is also not home, but it’s his only chance. Arthur walks across their connected yards and knocks on the front door. Then he waits.

No one answers. He’s just about to turn around in defeat when he sees the living room curtains move a little. Someone  _is_ home, and they’re watching him. He leans over a little and tries to peer inside, but whoever it is moves away, and Arthur can’t see them.

"Hello?" he calls, cupping his hands around his eyes. "Eames?"

The front door’s latch creaks, and when Arthur straightens again on the stoop, the door is open, and Eames is standing there. 

Arthur quickly finds he’s completely unprepared for the moment. He’d hoped, in part, that his reaction to Eames had been spurred by his heat, but he isn’t in heat now, and he still feels breathless looking at him. This is, despite the fact, that Eames looks  _terrible_ : he’s pale, and too thin, and he apparently hasn’t bathed in days. He also possibly just awoke from a nap because his hair is sticking in all kinds of unflattering directions.

Arthur almost smiles fondly, but then he remembers why he’s here. 

"I know what you are," he blurts out with zero finesse.

Eames shifts in the doorframe and glances over Arthur’s shoulder nervously, like he’s afraid the neighbors will overhear their discussion. He wonders how long  _Eames_ has known he’s an alpha, or if his parents kept him in the dark too. 

"Yeah? What’s that?" Eames rasps, and a memory comes rushing back to Arthur. 

_Eames, standing outside his window, downstairs, screaming. Screaming for him. Arthur’s parents, nervously talking. “Are the doors barricaded? He’ll try to get in if he smells him,” his father says, frightened._

Eames had screamed until his voice gave out, and when Arthur looks down at his arms and hands, he sees they’re badly bruised and cut. How many hours had he tried to break into their home?

"You’re an alpha," Arthur whispers.

The young man’s jaw twitches when he clenches his teeth together. “Secret’s out, then,” Eames says in that derisive way that means he’s really pissed and about to shut off completely. “Congratulations. I’m sure the whole bloody neighborhood knows,” he says, moving to close the door in Arthur’s face, but he catches it at the last second and pushes back as hard as he can. He’s no match for Eames’ strength, of course, but the resistances makes the alpha pause, and gives Arthur a chance to respond.

 _“_ Why didn’t you  _tell_  me?” he says, peering through the opening in the door. “We tell each other everything.”

Arthur can’t be sure, but he thinks Eames’ tough facade fades a little. His expression softens, and he looks down at his feet—a sure tell that he’s upset. He never looks Arthur in the eyes when he’s close to tears. 

"Didn’t know, did I?" he spits bitterly, swaying a bit from side-to-side. 

Arthur sighs. “My parents didn’t tell me either. Well, I mean…they just did, but only after my heat.” 

He doesn’t realize he’s said it aloud until it’s too late, and when Eames looks at him, Arthur blushes furiously and has to look away. He shouldn’t be here talking to Eames, especially about private stuff like that. 

"I keep dreaming about you," Eames says, and when Arthur looks back to his face, he sees the young alpha has that distant look in his eyes again—glassy and focused on something far away even though they’re looking right at each other.

Of all the reactions Arthur thought he’d have to Eames saying those words, he wouldn’t have thought crying would be at the top of the list, but he can feel the tears welling in his eyes. He feels hot and his mouth is dry. “I don’t know what’s happening and I’m scared, Eames,” he confesses quietly. 

Which is precisely when Arthur hears his parents pulling into the driveway next door. There’s a horrible moment when he looks over his shoulder and locks eyes with his father, who sees him standing in front of Eames’ door—deliberately disobeying his orders. He only has time to see his father park the car, throw open the door, and bark, “Arthur!” at him before Eames grabs his wrist and pulls him inside. 

The door slams shut at his back when Eames throws him against it, and for a split second, he’s gripped by fear. He can’t help thinking his parents had been right—Eames  _is_ dangerous. The house is dark, and no one is home, and Eames is going to rape and kill him, and he’s been so, so stupid. His suspicions appear to be confirmed when the alpha wraps his fingers around his throat. Arthur is shaking uncontrollably, and he shuts his eyes, not wanting to see Eames face when it happens.

It takes him a few moments to realise Eames isn’t crushing his windpipe, but rather  _stroking_ his neck carefully. His heart continues to hammer, and just when he’s about to ask what’s going on, Eames surges forward, pinning him in place with the weight of his body, and burying his face against his throat. Arthur gasps and his hands fly up to push against the alpha’s chest and shove him away as he had that night at Eames’ party, but he won’t allow it this time. This time, he grabs Arthur’s wrists and pins them to his sides. 

"Eames," he gasps when he hears his father outside, yelling his name as he walks across the front yard. He is so,  _so_  dead.

"Shh.." the alpha soothes and breathes deeply, inhaling Arthur’s scent. "Fuck, I missed you."

 _It’s only been a week,_ he wants to say, but he doesn’t because he knows what Eames means. He’s missed him, too. At some point, Eames stopped being his friend, and while he doesn’t quite understand what they are to each other just yet, he knows they’re much more than that now.

He wants to tell Eames they don’t have much time, but there’s no need because Eames crushes his lips against Arthur’s mouth, pulling a desperate moan from his throat. He arches off the door—not out of fear or a sense of preservation this time, but to press his body against the alpha’s. Eames seems to appreciate the gesture because he growls ferally and pushes his tongue—hot and wet into Arthur’s mouth. He’s never kissed anyone like this before, but with Eames, it feels natural and effortless—any possibility of clumsiness eradicated by the alpha’s fearless demands and Arthur’s willingness to submit.

When Eames knows he won’t fight, he releases his wrists, and touches him—stroking his sides, dipping down to touch his thighs, and finally gripping his ass firmly, and  _lifting_ Arthur up a little until he drapes a leg around Eames’ hips. He can feel the alpha’s cock is hard, and Arthur is instantly flooded with a sense of pride and want. 

They kiss, and grope, and grind against each other shamelessly in a heated frenzy until the door lurches behind him, and Arthur realizes his father is trying to kick it down. He probably thinks Eames is attacking Arthur, and no amount of dissuasion will convince him otherwise. 

When they part, Eames stares at him, flushed, lips red, and so beautiful Arthur wants to kiss him again. “They don’t want me to see you,” he whispers, his voice rough.

Eames furrows his brow. “Fuck them,” he responds simply—in the very blunt way that Eames always parses the world.

"If they make me….If they take me away, you have to find me," Arthur says, a little louder because his father is now  _shouting_  his name, over and over. Arthur curls his fingers into Eames’ shirt and tugs a little to emphasize his point. “Okay?”

Eames looks at him thoughtfully, his gaze wandering from his brow, down his cheekbones, to his mouth, which he stares at until Arthur pulls at his shirt again and he nods dumbly, eyes flitting upwards until they’re looking at each other again. “I’ll find you,” he says simply, the declaration putting Arthur at ease slightly. “I’ll always find you,” he adds, and his father’s voice and the clamouring at the door fall away—as do the ugly bruises and scabbed gashes on Eames’ body, along with his fears and worries.

They kiss. They kiss for a long time, until Arthur’s father threatens to call the police. It’s only then that Arthur opens the door a couple inches, and his father practically rips him through to the stoop. His grip on Arthur’s arm is rough as he all but drags him across the yard, and he knows with absolute certainty that he’s in an epic amount of trouble. 

But Arthur doesn’t care because, when he looks over his shoulder, Eames is watching him as he stands in front of the house—shoulders square, unafraid.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur's dad gives him an ultimatum.

His parents are so furious they don't yell at him. That's how Arthur can tell he's _really_ in trouble.

 

He's sitting on the edge of his bed, head hung low, as his father and mother stand before him. Arthur knows the punishment this time is going to be severe, but they've already taken away Eames from him, and he can't imagine a worse retribution.

 

"You deliberately disobeyed us," his father says, and instead of angry, he sounds disappointed.

 

Arthur deflates a little. It's so weird: when he's with Eames, every decision he makes feels logical and inevitable, but when they're apart, his mind is a murky, confused place. If he was just allowed to see Eames, he knows everything would fall into place again.

 

"You got those scholarships you applied for. They came in the mail two days ago, but I don't imagine you noticed that," his father continues and Arthur winces. He's right. Arthur _hadn't_ noticed, because Arthur rarely thinks about school anymore. It's so unlike his normal behavior that he really can't blame his parents for looking at him like he's suddenly sprouted a second head or something. Arthur used to roll his eyes at the super mushy couples at schools, who always flash doe-eyes at each other, and make out by the lockers well past the final warning bell between classes.

 

But now he finds himself in the exact same position. He's totally love sick.

 

"Oh…" he says unhelpfully. "That's awesome."

 

His father's laughter lacks any trace of joy. It's dry and loud, like a bark. "Yeah, I'd call getting into Harvard pretty awesome."

 

Arthur looks up sharply. "Wait, what?" His gaze flits from his father to his mother, who smiles faintly at him—it's a secret gesture, just to let him know they don't both utterly despise him. "I got in?"

 

"Yeah, came last week," his father sighs. "I don't know what to do with you, Arthur. Frankly, I'm not sure you can handle college."

 

Arthur furrows his brow and frowns at his father. He's willing to self-flagellate, but even the quiet and reflective have their limits. Arthur can sure as hell handle college. After all, he's the one who's been busting his ass for four years, studying non-stop, and taking advanced courses to maintain an edge on his highly competitive classmates. And now his dad is acting like he can't deal with Harvard—why?—because he kissed Eames a couple times?

 

"I can _handle_ it," he mutters, and in his periphery, his mother twist her hands in front of her nervously.

 

"Yeah? Well, you have to prove it, son. Even with a scholarship, we have to pay for books and living expenses, and I'm not burning money so you can go…sow your wild oats," his father spits.

 

Arthur's face burns when his father reduces what he has with Eames to such silly, embarrassing terms. He still can't put a name to it, but what he has with Eames is special and huge—big enough to make him forget about significant things like scholarships, and Harvard, and the _rest of his life_. Arthur loves school, and learning, and he looks forward to studying Chemistry at one of the most prestigious universities on the plant, but those things lose some of their luster when compared to Eames.

 

He doesn't want to sacrifice Harvard, of course, but he also doesn't understand why this has to be a choice at all. People learn and love every day, and none of them are put in a position where they have to make some kind of bizarre Sophie's choice.

 

"Why do you hate Eames?" Arthur asks suddenly.

 

It's like the words suck the oxygen out of the room. 

 

His father stares at him, plainly furious, and his mother remains silent. 

 

"Are you afraid I'll get pregnant?" he asks imploringly, looking at his parents. He _needs_ to understand. His parents are normally lovely, accepting people, and they've always nurtured his friendship with Eames, so it makes zero sense to him that they're suddenly actively trying to rip them apart. "Or that he'll attack me? Or…that I'll throw everything away for him?" Arthur continues to ramble, pulling out any possible explanation.

 

"Yes," his mother interrupts quietly. "All of that, honey."

 

His father no longer looks sad. In the wake of his mother's quiet confession, he suddenly looks old and tired. "Kiddo, you've always followed that boy wherever he goes," he sighs. "Remember when you went down by the creek and scraped your knee?"

 

Arthur nods slightly. He does remember. Eames wanted to walk farther into the woods than they'd ever gone before, and Arthur had been afraid because the sun was setting, and he didn't have his coat, and he was scared they wouldn't be able to find their way back. But he'd followed Eames regardless, because he trusts the alpha, and always has. 

 

He'd fallen against some rocks and scraped his knee, badly enough that he'd begun to cry, and Eames half-walked, half-carried him back to the house.

 

"Well, that was only a scraped knee," his father says softly, eyes sad when he gazes down at Arthur. "The stakes are higher this time."

 

Dropping his gaze to his hands, Arthur grows silent. He doesn't know what to say in response to his father's words. Logically, he understands why his parents are concerned, and he feels foolish that his only meager defense in the presence of their pristine facts is: _but we love each other_. He can't even say the words aloud because he feels like a silly little kid, arguing wishes and magic can cure all the ills in the world.

 

"Here's the deal," his father announces eventually, the authoritarian tone back in his voice, as though he had never made a very tender confession at all. "You can go to Harvard, if you go live with your Aunt Janine in Boston this summer before your first semester." 

 

Arthur's mouth hangs agape, his heart beat hammering in his ears, as he stares at his father. " _Why_?" he rasps, nearly choking on the question.

 

"Because we don't trust you alone in the house with…that… _boy_ next door," his mother sighs, cringing a bit at her clumsy wording.

 

"Stop calling him _that boy_ ," Arthur hisses through clenched teeth. "He's Eames. Stop pretending like you don't know him. It's Eames!"

 

"Lower your voice," his father interrupts. "That's the deal, Arthur. Boston for the summer, or you're not going at all."

 

***

 

Their parents may be able to keep them separated when they're at home, but school is neutral ground. Between classes, Arthur and Eames are allowed to socialize, and no one can stop them, and frankly, their teachers lack the same incentive to keep them apart than, say, their parents.

 

But the last time he'd seen the alpha, they had parted on a rather…heated note, so expecting a casual, relaxed greeting was probably slightly naive of him.

 

Whatever he was anticipating, it didn't involve Eames grabbing him by the wrist and pulling him into the bathroom. Luckily, the final bell just rang, so the stalls and urinals are unmanned when Eames crowds him against the wall. "Fuck, I missed you," are the first words out of the alpha's mouth, and Arthur is just about to say something sarcastic like: _that sounds familiar_ , but then Eames nuzzles and kisses his neck, and he forget how to make words.

 

Eames knocks his books out of his hand, and Arthur cries out softly in objection, but then their lips collide together, and instead he claws at Eames' hair, and his broad shoulders, gripping and pulling.

 

The kiss is rough and bruising, and it's exquisite. Arthur wants to climb Eames and wrap his his legs around his waist, so he does, and Eames easily supports his weight as they make out. Dimly, Arthur is aware of the alpha's erection pressing through his jeans and into his hip, and it feels so good that he begins shoving his hips off the wall to rub against it.

 

Eames apparently likes that because he growls deep in his throat.

 

"Wait, Eames," he gasps against the alpha's mouth. "Stop, I have to…I have to tell you something."

 

Eames' eyes are glazed, and he does stop, but not before dipping down to shove his nose under Arthur's jawline and breathe deeply. "You smell so good," he murmurs, like he's just woken from a dream.

 

Arthur squirms until Eames puts him down, and then he smoothes out his shirt, and tucks an errant curl behind his ear. "Um…listen," he begins, frowning slightly. "My parents want me to live in Boston this summer. They're afraid we'll keep trying to see each other."

 

He still feels warm all over, and Arthur is sure, if he looked in one of the mirrors right now, his cheeks would be flushed, and his ears would be a bright shade of red. Eames isn't any better off, though. His hair is a work of mayhem, and his gaze still seems focused on something very far away. The alpha doesn't seem fazed by the news in the slightest. "They can't keep us apart," he says, with such simple conviction that the world makes sense again.

 

Of course his parents can't keep them from seeing each other. No one can keep them apart.

 

Arthur almost has to physically shake his head to stay focused. "Yeah, except…I have to go live with my aunt."

 

"I won't let you leave," Eames says casually, and Arthur can actually see the scene unfold in his mind—Eames blocking the way of the U-Haul, brawling with anyone who tries to remove him—maybe really hurting people. Eames would do all of that because he's an alpha, and Arthur is his mate, and _no one_ separates mates. 

 

But he also knows they have to be smart about this, and he can't unleash Eames to let him tear apart everything like a rabid bull.

 

He's read stories about unruly alphas being euthanised by the state, and there's no way he's going to let Eames put himself in a position where he has no other option but to fight his way out.

 

"Come find me," Arthur whispers instead, gripping the front of Eames' t-shirt to tug him forward so the alpha is forced to look him in the eyes. "Come to Boston and find me."

 

Eames touches his hips—lightly at first—and then cups the bones, pressing them back against the wall. He pins Arthur in place and presses their foreheads together, and for a moment, all Arthur can hear is his heartbeat. "I'll come find you," Eames murmurs.

 

In that moment, Arthur knows his father was wrong. It's Eames who will follow _him_ anywhere he goes.

 

***

 

His father upholds his end of the bargain.

 

After graduation, his father loads up a U-Haul with his possessions, and Arthur is almost out the front door when his mom grabs him again for their millionth hug. When they part, she pushes a small box into his hand, wrapped in postal paper. "Here, honey. Don't show dad," she whispers, glancing over his shoulder, through the open door. "It's from Eames," she explains, smiling secretively at him, and hugging him again. "He's doing this because he loves you, baby."

 

For a second, Arthur doesn't know which _he_ she's talking about.

 

He rides silently with his father, the gift tucked between him and the door, until his father has to stop to refill the gas tank.

 

As soon as the door closes, Arthur drops the gift on his lap and tears off the paper.

 

Inside is a DVD of Casablanca—the same copy he gave Eames for his birthday. At first, Arthur furrows his brow, not understanding why the alpha has re-gifted the present until he picks up the DVD and spots a yellow post-it note underneath.

 

_Darling—_

 

_No way am I letting you get on a plane with some other wanker._

 

_See you in Boston_

 

_—E_

 

Arthur smiles brightly, and he's still smiling, even after tucking away the DVD and all evidence of the gift, once his father returns.

 

"You're in a good mood," his father says, smiling his way, once they're back on the highway.

 

Arthur imagines how happy Eames will be, and how good the alpha will make him feel, when they're reunited. "Yeah," he says. "I am."


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur tries to adjust to life without Eames

Arthur has been so distracted by the drama with Eames that he didn't take time to mentally prepare for life in Boston. 

 

The city is loud and crowded, and he hates it immediately. What's worse is that he has to spend the summer living with his Aunt Janine in her cramped apartment on the third floor of a building that must have been built in the 1930s or 1920s, when apparently everyone was very tiny because all the doorways are narrow and he has to stoop a bit to get his head under the shower head.

 

His aunt's apartment is dark and depressing, and contains all the vestiges of an older person's living space: ugly floral wall paper, weird plastic kitchen table cloth, and crocheted quilts on the living room couch and on the bed in the guest bedroom where Arthur is staying. Janine is his mom's older sister, she's in her fifties, and she smokes like a chimney, which Arthur thinks is weird because she's also a full-time nurse. 

 

It's bizarre to see Janine sitting at the kitchen table in her nurse's scrubs, puffing away on her cancer sticks.

 

She's also very nice, which just makes Arthur feel more guilty for being a nightmare of depressed angst when he arrives at her doorstep. Worse, his mom seems to have filled Janine in on all the sordid details of his life because she immediately spouts nuggets of worldly wisdom his way.

 

"Honey, it was your first crush. Those always hurt the worst," she says as she prepares what looks like an awful sandwich that Arthur is terrified she'll want him to consume. White Wonder Bread, baloney, yellow paste masquerading as mustard. Sure enough, she sets down the finished product in front of him and gently squeezes his shoulder. "Eat up, you're too skinny."

 

Arthur flashes a weak smile her way and takes a bite. As predicted, the meat is dry, as is the bread, and the mustard gives the whole situation a bitter tang. He gently sets down the sandwich and mumbles, "Thank you." 

 

He knows it would be a waste of breath to explain that he doesn't have a crush on Eames—that Eames is his mate and he loves him. It would be pointless because Arthur is young, and as such none of the adults in his life take him, or his emotions, seriously. If he tried to articulate that the reason he's skinny is because he doesn't like eating anymore because he's so depressed that the food has no taste, and instead he wants to curl up in bed all day, his aunt, mom, and dad would fly into crisis mode and send him off to a therapist that would prescribe everything but the one thing he needs to actually get better.

 

Janine is a bit more worldly than his mom, and she must see through his pleasant facade because she sighs and drags out the chair across from him so she can sit down. "I know how it is…with alphas," she says, opening a fresh pack of cigarettes. "But you'll forget about him, honey. I promise. One day, this will all just be a fond memory." Janine flashes a small, encouraging smile as she draws out a cigarette and leans down to light the tip with her Bic lighter.

 

***

 

Arthur spends a lot of time in the guest room with the door closed. He sits on the bed with his laptop open, headphones plugged in, as he listens to music and surfs the internet. Luckily, one of Janine's neighbors (CAPTAIN TUNA) leaves their internet unlocked, so he hops on their network to read his mail and obsessively check Skype to see if Eames is online.

 

The alpha is never signed on, and Arthur is beginning to worry.

 

Last time they were together, Arthur left Eames will the specific instructions to come and find him, but they didn't have time to formulate any details, like when and where they would rendezvous. Eames swore he would come and find Arthur, but as the days pass, he's beginning to feel less optimistic about their chances. Boston is a huge city, Harvard's campus is enormous, and Arthur has no idea how Eames is going to find him.

 

Or if Eames even _wants_ to find him anymore.

 

Arthur spends a lot of time thinking about his aunt's words. Everyone else seems so jaded and cavalier about their relationship that their negativity is beginning to rub off on Arthur. Maybe they're right. Maybe he and Eames were just having a summer fling, and Eames doesn't want to see him anymore, which is why he hasn't tried to sign online to talk to him.

 

He considers emailing the alpha, but decides against it. Either Eames is going to find him or he won't. 

 

Arthur can't make Eames be in love with him.

 

Harvard publishes a recommended reading list for incoming freshman, so Arthur walks to a nearby bookstore and buys used copies of all the books and then spends the next couple weeks reading voraciously. The distraction helps a little, but he has a hard time focusing on the words, his mind foggy and easily derailed. Books he normally could have read in a day take several days for him to consume and understand fully. And this development isn't just isolated to reading. Janine has to repeat things to him many times before Arthur can comprehend what she's saying.

 

Arthur is worried he won't be able to keep up at Harvard—not when he's so distracted by the fact that Eames is not with him, and he doesn't know where the alpha is. 

 

He spends a lot of time sleeping, but even that proves to be an ineffective means of escape because he dreams endlessly of Eames. The dreams are hyper-real reenactments of actual moments when they were really together, playing video games, or just hanging out. But unlike those times, in the dreams Eames inevitably kisses him, and Arthur responds with desperate passion, clinging to him and pulling until the alpha pins him to the floor or the bed. "Please find me," Arthur gasps against Eames' soft mouth, over and over, until he wakes up—always to a soaked bed and soiled pajama bottoms.

 

Thankfully, Janine has stopped asking him what's wrong when he carries the sheets and pajamas down to the basement to wash. 

 

This happens almost every day for two months.

 

Arthur loses five pounds that he really couldn't afford to lose, and it doesn't matter how many sandwiches Janine forces his way, he simply can't keep the weight on. After a while, Arthur can't stand to dream of Eames anymore, so he tries not to sleep. He stays up all night, fooling around on the internet, and drinks soda whenever he begins to nod off.

 

"You look awful, honey," Janine notes one day, and Arthur knows she's right. He caught a glimpse of himself in the bathroom mirror the other day, and his cheeks are sunken, beneath the great bags under his eyes. But he tells his aunt that he's fine, just like he tells his mom and dad when they call every week to check up on him. There is no alternative. If he was honest—if he actually said the words _I want to die_ to his parents, they'd make him go to a doctor who can't help him anyway.

 

What's the point?

 

Arthur is almost happy when freshman orientation rolls around because at least it serves as another distraction from the miserable state of his life. Harvard has a general orientation, and then one just for omegas, of which there are approximately fifty attending the school this year. Arthur sits at the back of the room as an old man addresses the group, detailing the specific dangers and challenges awaiting omegas in their campus life.

 

He'll be living in Cabot House, which is where the omegas always stay, since they can't exactly domesticate with the other alpha and beta students. Their advisor also recommends every omega student invest in suppressants and a pheromone blocker to make their lives easier when attending "mixed classes" i.e. classes attended by alphas, betas, and omegas. Arthur jots down all the advice, and when the orientation is over, quickly packs away his notes and slips from the room.

 

He doesn't want to socialise with anyone.

 

"I'm supposed to get this stuff," he announces when he's back at Janine's place and hands her the notes. Janine, a nurse, immediately nods in recognition the moment she sets eyes on the itemised list.

 

"Sure, I can get these things," she says, tapping her lit cigarette against the ashtray located in the center of the kitchen table. Arthur watches a column of ash drop away into the base of the green ceramic dish. His aunt looks exhausted after a twelve hour shift at the hospital. Not for the first time, he feels a pang of guilt that his aunt always works so hard, and still manages to worry endlessly about him. When she looks up, Janine flashes a tired smile his way. "I'm really proud of you."

 

Arthur remains quiet because he doesn't know what to say in response, but then another thought occurs to him. "Can you get a doctor's note for anything?"

 

His aunt quirks a brow and leans back in her chair, eyeing him warily. "Depends. What did you have in mind?" she asks, pulling a drag from the cigarette.

 

"They said sometimes Harvard allows people to have their own rooms, if it's medically necessary."

 

The tip of her tongue darts out to moisten her thin lips, which are dry, and surrounded by fine lines. Arthur has seen old photos of his aunt and his mom when they were young and beautiful. He thinks maybe his aunt is still beautiful, but she's simply exhausted and beaten down by the world.

 

"You want your own room?" she asks, butting out the cigarette so she can cross her arms and turn to face Arthur, devoting her entire attention to him. His mom always adopted the same posture whenever he really needed her, and for a second, he's left breathless by a sudden spike of homesickness.

 

"I'm having…some anxiety," Arthur says evasively, not wanting to go into too many details. _I can't sleep or eat_ will sound too dramatic. _I dream constantly of Eames and come in my sleep_ sounds psychotic. He decides anxiety is the best way to go—serious, but not too serious. Besides, he wouldn't be the first omega to have an anxiety disorder. It's a stressful situation to be surrounded by alphas and betas, who would tear out each other's throats in order to mount a fertile omega.

 

This latter reason is probably why Janine slowly nods and frowns as she considers his request. Apparently, she must buys his excuse because she reaches out to squeeze his hand supportively. "You got it, honey. Everything will be okay."

 

***

 

His aunt secures a doctor's note that states Arthur has been diagnosed with an anxiety disorder, and as such will require private living accommodations. This is how he gets a single room in Cabot House. It's a modest set up: a small bed, desk, and closet, but it's quiet, and apparently the other omegas on the floor are just as skittish as Arthur because they initially keep to themselves. 

 

He's still furious at his parents—for the way they tore him away from Eames, and from the way they generally handled the situation, so when they ask him if he'd like them to come to Boston to help him move in, he says no. Instead, Janine helps him carry over his meager possessions. All in all, it takes him about thirty minutes to move in, and then there's an awkward moment where he says goodbye to his aunt, and they hug in the middle of his room.

 

Arthur wishes he could feel _something_ : sadness that his mom and dad aren't here, or guilt that his aunt is clearly so much more upset about leaving him than he is about her leaving. But he only feels numb. And beneath that, angry, but the anger is muted, humming distantly in the background. When Janine leaves him, he sits on the edge of his bed and stares at the wall. Then, he opens his laptop, connects to his floor's wi-fi, and checks Skype.

 

Eames is not online.

 

He stares at the screen a long time. An image flashes across his mind: Arthur walking up to the roof of Cabot House and throwing himself off the edge. 

 

The thought is close enough to a plan that it frightens him into action. He composes a new email and types in the subject: "I can't live without you," then addresses it to Eames and clicks send. 

 

A whole week passes and Eames never responds. Arthur doesn't go to any of the orientation mixers, and thankfully no one bothers him. He tries not to, but sometimes falls asleep anyway, dreams of Eames, and wakes up crying in frustration. He considers emailing his mom, sometimes quick like, "I'm dying," but deletes the email.

 

Maybe he'll get over it. Maybe this is part of getting over it.

 

He lays in bed at night and stares at the ceiling, reminding himself to keep breathing.

 

On the first day of classes, Arthur takes his suppressant, sprays the pheromone blocker against this throat and on his wrists, grabs his messenger bag, and closes the door to his room behind him. He hasn't been outside in a while, so the sun temporarily blinds him, but once his eyes adjust, he keeps them downcast, and hurries to the first hall. Luckily, all the freshman are in such a nervous frenzy that no one pays him any attention until he's at his first class: chemistry lab.

 

His lab partner is an alpha, who must know he's an omega, but doesn't say anything rude or condescending. Arthur thinks that might be because he doesn't wreak of pheromones, but tries not to think too deeply about it. He needs all of his brain power to focus on their lab sheet, and the experiment at hand. The mental fog is still there, but Arthur's anxiety diminishes a little when he realizes, not only can he keep up with the class, but he's smarter than his lab partner.

 

And if the alpha's broad shoulders remind him a little of Eames, well…no one can really blame him, right?

 

Freshman are encouraged to develop networks and connections, but the thought of socialising horrifies Arthur. He needs every ounce of energy just to get up in the morning, go to his classes, and study. But he's doing well, though he ignores the encouraging emails and phone calls from his parents. Arthur still doesn't want to talk to them.

 

One night, a couple of omegas from his floor come by his room to invite Arthur out with their group. They're going dancing, or something, judging by their flashy, tight clothing. Arthur quickly formulates an excuse for why he can't go—even though he's done studying for the night. He can't think of a less appealing prospect than letting some anonymous, sweaty alpha grind against him.

 

The blond omega, Arthur thinks his name is David, rolls his eyes and playfully elbows the brunette omega in the side. "Don't bother trying to convince him. Arthur's a lost cause. He has a _boyfriend_ ," he says, laughing.

 

 _"Really_ ," the brunette omega says with great interest.

 

Arthur's eyes flash angrily. "What are you talking about?" he hisses, unamused.

 

They must be drunk because neither of them seem to register Arthur's anger, or if they do, they don't seem to care. David is still laughing when he responds: "I hear you all the time in here," he says, then mimics Arthur's voice as he moans: "Eames…oh, Eames!"

 

His face burns in embarrassment. Unbeknownst to Arthur, he must have been crying out for the alpha in his sleep. He wonders how long that's been going on, and then remembers the nervous concern in his aunt's eyes every morning.

 

Arthur slams the door on their surprised faces.

 

***

 

Nothing gets better, but he gets used to everything: the constant dreams, waking up in tears, the depression. He adapts to walking through a fog, where normally he never feels highs or lows, except the times he thinks about Eames too much, and he explodes in anger at the slightest provocation. The suppressants help a little because at least he never goes into heat. Arthur doesn't even want to think about what would happen if he were to go into heat.

 

He begins to think maybe this is his life now, but that thought is so overwhelming that he immediately rejects the notion. Instead, he takes one day at a time and lies to himself that things won't always be this way.

 

One day, things will get better.

 

The other omegas learn to leave him alone, and Arthur knows they think he's crazy, but he's fine with that. As long as they leave him alone, they can think whatever they want. When someone scrawls "Arthur <3s Eames" on his door's wipe board, he angrily erases it, and then for safe measure, rips the board off his door and hides it in his room so no one can communicate with him.

 

He continues to ignore his mom and dad's phone calls.

 

Chemistry is his only reprieve because it requires all of his brainpower, leaving no unattended cell to flick to life and remind him of Eames. Plus, he's really good at it. On the last three exams, Arthur has set the curve for all of the classes. His chest swells in pride whenever he goes to read the posted results, which their professor prints out according to their student ID numbers, and the other students grumble, "Who the fuck is 13452?"

 

Because Arthur knows that's his number. He's the top of his class.

 

When he's immersed in chemistry, it's not quite happiness, but it's close. It's enough to help him wake up in the morning. And Arthur begins to think maybe this is it for him—maybe this is what the future looks like.

 

Until he walks out of the chemistry hall one day, and sees Eames standing at the bottom of the steps.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Together again

Arthur freezes midway down the stairs. 

 

His messenger bag slips from his shoulder and crashes to the steps, one of the textbooks sliding out and flipping open, pages fluttering in the breeze. The other students exiting and entering the hall warily part around Arthur, eyeing both him and Eames, but he's unaware of their timid stares because _Eames is right there, looking back at him_. Eames, who Arthur thought had moved on and forgotten about him.

 

The alpha is bundled in a bomber jacket, hands stuffed in his pockets, and Arthur's brain slows down long enough to take in some details: the bags under his eyes, cowlick standing up at the back of his skull, stubble lining his jaw. Eames looks tired and worn, and Arthur wants to touch him and fix everything that is broken between them. That impulse is so strong that he rushes forward, despite the fact that he hasn't yet cleared the bottom three steps.

 

Eames sees that he's about to fall and leaps forward to catch Arthur in his arms. "Shh, I've got you. I've got you," Eames murmurs as Arthur shakes against him, his face already wet with tears by the time Eames gets them to the bottom of the staircase and can set him down. They hug a long time, Eames' face buried against his hair, breathing in as Arthur greedily does the same against the alpha's neck where the jacket is unzipped a bit. It's wrong for an unaccompanied, unmated omega to do this in public, but Arthur doesn't care. He clings to Eames, arms wrapped around his neck, as he takes great gulps of the scent he's missed so badly.

 

When he peeks up at the alpha, Eames' brow is furrowed in consternation. Arthur pulls back and is about to ask what's wrong when the answer occurs to him. 

 

He doesn't smell the same.

 

"I'm on suppressants…and pheromone blockers," he explains, a little guiltily. Here he is, thoroughly enjoying himself by bathing in Eames' scent, and he can't return the favor.

 

Eames nods slowly, gaze roaming across Arthur's face—from his brow, to his eyes and mouth. When Eames moves to touch his cheeks, it's to carefully wipe away the trails of moisture from his tears. His face warms under the scrutiny because Arthur knows he doesn't look the same either—he's thinner, cheeks sunken, skin an unhealthy sallow hue. "Suppressants," he echoes thoughtfully, and the baritone of his voice makes Arthur shiver a little. Before he can say anything else, Eames releases him and moves to collect Arthur's bag and books from the steps. Then he loops the bag over his shoulder and takes Arthur by the hand. "C'mon," he instructs, pulling them away from the curious eyes mingling outside the hall, and guiding them over to the quad. 

 

It's chilly outside, so there aren't that many students lingering across the grassy island where Eames parks them under a tall birch tree. He sits down and pulls Arthur to lay in the spot between his legs so he can recline back against the alpha's chest. Then Eames loops his arms around Arthur's waist and buries his face against the side of the omega's neck, even though Arthur doesn't smell the same. It occurs to Arthur then that Eames missed him as much as he missed the alpha.

 

"Eames," he says softly, reaching back to touch the side of his face—to coax him into looking into his eyes when he turns slightly. Up close, Eames looks even more exhausted, his eyes pink from lack of sleep, but Arthur doesn't get a chance to examine him beyond that observation because the alpha surges forward and kisses him. Arthur makes a muffled, surprised noise, but immediately recovers when he grasps the collar of Eames' jacket and uses it as leverage so he can pull himself into the embrace.

 

The kiss is different than before, when Eames pinned him against the door at his parents' house. This time, they don't have to rush under threat of Arthur's father breaking in and thrashing Eames. The alpha carefully cups Arthur's face and holds him in place as they kiss, and the gesture is so unbearably sweet and intimate that it tears a wounded sound from Arthur. 

 

Eames quickly pulls back and looks at him in concern.

 

"I'm okay…I'm okay," Arthur whispers, pulling him back into the kiss. 

 

He doesn't want to be in public, openly displayed like this. Arthur wants Eames to take him somewhere private, but there's no where for them to go, so they brazenly make out under the tree where anyone can see and report them. Harvard doesn't allow alphas and omegas to carry on like this, and if a security guard sees them, Arthur will have to go to the administration offices to be written up. After three strikes, Arthur could be expelled from school.

 

He's aware of all of this, and still he can't bear to pull away from Eames. In the end, it's the alpha who separates from him, and again gathers Arthur's bag before helping him to his feet. 

 

"Show me your room," Eames says, Arthur nodding mutely in response as he brushes off his slacks, knocking off bits of grass and dirt. His lips are swollen and wet from the kiss, and when the tip of his tongue darts out, he can still taste Eames. His dick gives an interested twitch, and Arthur decides, yes, he should show Eames his room. Even though that blatantly flies in the face of campus policy, and it's one of the major sacred rules Harvard stresses to incoming omega freshmen: they are never, ever to permit alphas in their rooms.

 

"Okay," Arthur says, and is grateful when Eames gives him his arm as they walk back towards Cabot House. Suddenly, it's become very difficult for him to walk, so he loops his arm with Eames' and leans against him a bit as they make their way across the grass and then the walkway. They don't speak, but Arthur feels strangely serene for the first time in months—since the last time he was with Eames. 

 

It's not until they walk into Cabot House and are riding the elevator up to his floor that Arthur snaps out of the pleasant haze to realise this is a very bad idea. He pulls his head from Eames' shoulder and blinks rapidly, focusing his eyes on the numbers above the elevator door, then the doors, and finally the two omegas standing against the opposite wall. It's David and the brunette omega from his floor, and they are openly gaping at Arthur and Eames in a mixture of fear and shock. Of course they are. Arthur is flouting the most important rule of Cabot House, and the entire campus. They're probably wondering if the weird omega has finally snapped and gone completely mental.

 

But instead of fearful, Arthur feels victorious. He wants to grab David by his blond hair, shake him, and hiss: _he's not my boyfriend. He's my mate, and he's here now. He's with me now._ Just to see all the casual levity with which David regards their relationship vanish from his eyes. _He's mine, and I'm his_.

 

"Stop looking at us," Eames suddenly growls, causing all three of the omegas to jump, but only David and the other omega to immediately (and deferentially) drop their gaze to the floor.

 

The smugness and pride Arthur feels spikes again. His mate is here now, and he's strong, and the omegas know he's Arthur's. The other omegas cower against the opposite wall until the elevator reaches the top floor and pleasantly pings about their heads. When the door slides open, Arthur wants to say something so cutting and brutal to the omegas, who have been cruel to him and teased him for so long, they will never forget it. But Eames grabs his arm and pulls him away, leaving him with no other recourse but to quickly flip David the bird. But the message lands loud and clear, judging by the scowl on the other omega's face.

 

Arthur feels breathless and giddy when they're finally in his room with the door closed. He can still see the shocked, afraid, bitter faces of his enemies, and the fact that they might be envying Arthur's position right now thrills him in a really primitive way. The alpha, Eames, chose him. Not them. 

 

He remains facing the single window in the room, and allows Eames to approach his back, but the alpha doesn't touch him. He hears Eames put down his messenger bag nearby the bed, and still he doesn't turn around. Arthur waits, swallowing thickly, when he feels Eames body looming behind him—broad and powerful. Finally, the alpha's breath ghosts across the back of his neck and Arthur inhales sharply. "Eames," he whispers on the exhale, as strong arms slide around his waist and pull him backwards. 

 

Bringing Eames here was stupid and unbelievably reckless, and Arthur knows they only have minutes before someone reports them, so he spins around and throws his arms around Eames' neck. Their mouths crash together again, and Eames paws him roughly as they kiss, yanking up the hem of Arthur's jacket, and his shirt underneath it, so he can grope the bare skin underneath. Arthur is far too thin under the layers of clothing—the ridges of his spine and ribs easily distinguishable beneath Eames' fingertips, and their presence must serve as a reminder of his negligence because the alpha pulls back suddenly and frowns down at Arthur's face.

 

Eames' lips are lovely: pink and plump from Arthur's attention, and the omega leans up against to kiss him again, but Eames steps back. "You didn't ask me where I've been," Eames observes, stepping away from Arthur entirely so he can look around the room. There's not much to see: a bed and a desk on which Arthur's laptop and the copy of _Casablanca_ rest. Eames pauses and picks up the DVD, gazing down at the cover. 

 

"It doesn't matter. You're here now," Arthur finally manages to reply, but his voice is rough and hushed. He doesn't wants to be talking right now. He wants Eames to touch him again. Briefly, Arthur wonders how much stronger that impulse would be if he wasn't on suppressants.

 

"It does matter," Eames answers, setting down the DVD case. He stares at Arthur, and for some reason he looks annoyed—maybe a little disappointed. "You should care when someone mistreats you, Arthur."

 

Arthur's face burns in anger—strangely, at the accusation that Eames has somehow abused him, even though the remark came from Eames himself. "You didn't—" he begins, but can't think of what to say next. Arthur has been slowly wasting away, occasionally fantasising about ending his suffering because he was convinced Eames wasn't coming for him. He's heard about abusive alphas, who hit their mates, but is neglect abuse? Arthur doesn't know. "You'd never hurt me on purpose," he says instead because that much he knows. 

 

Eames runs his fingertips over the DVD cover and sighs. "Never," he agrees before wandering over to the bed and sitting down on the edge.

 

The bed seems like a fantastic spot to be with Eames, so Arthur hurries over to sit next to him. "Tell me," he encourages gently, taking Eames' hands into his own and squeezing them.

 

Eames' lashes are dark smudges against his cheekbones, eyes downcast to their twined fingers, when he inhales deeply and begins:

 

"When I'm with you, everything is clear in my head, you know?" he asks, gaze flickering up to Arthur's face. The omega quickly nods because, yes, he knows exactly what that's like. When they're together, Arthur feels like he could take on the world—face any obstacle with reckless abandon. "But when you moved away, I thought about what your parents kept saying: I'm no good for you, I'll just ruin everything, and then my parents said the same stuff about you being at college now, and I should move on…"

 

Arthur frowns as he listens. He's unaccustomed to Eames looking or sounding unsure about anything, let alone their bond. Eames is the one who made the plan to reunite in Boston seem so logical. 

 

"I thought…maybe I created this fantasy in my head that's not real," Eames continues, wincing a bit, like pulling each word from his throat hurts. "Thought maybe I should just get a job, go to college, try to forget you. But then I got your email."

 

Arthur feels a bit embarrassed remembering the frantic SOS message: _I can't live without you_ , sent during arguably his darkest moment, when he thought about throwing himself from the roof of Cabot House. He feels terrible in retrospect, now that he sees how wrecked Eames is. No wonder that alpha is consumed by guilt. "Eames, that wasn't your fault—"

 

"It was," he interrupts. "It was my fault. I was weak and a coward for letting them change my mind, and your email reminded me of that. So I got on the first bus heading east, and made my way here."

 

He blinks in surprise at Eames. Now that he thinks about it, Eames didn't have a bag. He wonders if the alpha has any money on him. "Where are you staying?" he asks.

 

Before Eames can answer, there's a loud knock at the door, immediately followed by someone jiggling the doorknob. "Arthur!" his house master calls from the other side. "Open this door right now!"

 

David must have ratted him out as soon as he exited the elevator. On the other hand, the entire floor probably wreaks of Eames' scent by now. Every omega is aware of his presence, and might have called Albert, the house master, themselves.

 

Eames hands tightening around his fingers pulls him out of his violent fantasy about what he's going to do the next time he sees David. "Listen, it doesn't matter," Eames says, in response to Arthur's question. "I'll meet you outside here tomorrow morning, all right? We'll figure everything out."

 

All the doubt and fear inside him vanishes, and Arthur feels lighter than he has in ages when he leans forward and presses his brow to Eames'. Now that they're together, his world makes sense again. His parents are wrong. Eames' parents are wrong. David, and all the other omegas, who thought Arthur was a lovesick, rejected omega are wrong. He and Eames are going to be together, and prove all the naysayers are fools for ever doubting their bond.

 

Albert pounds on the door again. "Arthur! I have a security officer with me, and we'll be forced to break down your door if you don't comply!"

 

Eames cups his face, and when their gazes meet again, the noise from outside dims. "I'm here now. I won't leave again," the alpha says and kisses him again. Arthur's fingers curl into the front of his jacket, gripping the fabric tightly. But Eames _is_ leaving again, not through any fault of his own, but because security is making him leave. Arthur wants to go with him, to flee the school and leave behind everyone who keeps telling them no. Of course, the rational part of his mind also knows that would ultimately prove everyone right—that Arthur is an irrational omega, choosing love over his academic future.

 

Arthur knows they can have both. They just need a plan.

 

"Tomorrow," Eames says once they've parted, and Arthur nods a little. _Tomorrow_. He just has to wait a few hours to see Eames. He reminds himself as he stands up and crosses the room to unlock the door that this isn't like before. No one is going to permanently separate them. He'll see Eames again soon.

 

The second he unlocks the door, Albert and the security guard charge into the room, and Arthur sees the guard has a taser drawn. "He's not dangerous," Arthur says quickly, gaze darting nervously from the guard to Eames, who is now standing in the center of the room, staring icily at the intruders.

 

"Arthur," Albert sighs. "This is totally unacceptable. You know this could get you kicked out of Cabot House, right?" he asks. When Arthur glances over his shoulder, he sees a bunch of omegas gathered in the hallway, gazing curiously into his room. _Tourists_ , Arthur thinks contemptuously. Meanwhile, the security guard keeps the taser trained on Eames, like the alpha might launch across the room at him. Arthur wants to roll his eyes. If Eames wanted to kill them, they'd be dead already.

 

"I'm sorry. I forgot," Arthur answers lamely, and it doesn't seem like Albert is buying that excuse because he glares in response. 

 

" _You forgot_ the first rule of the house? No alpha guests?" he asks disbelievingly.

 

"I insisted on coming up. Arthur was just asking me to leave," Eames interjects, looking to the guard. "No need for that, mate. I'll just be on my way," he adds calmly, nodding at the taser.

 

Albert looks unconvinced as he eyes the alpha. "I have to write you up," he says, which is not good, but at least Arthur won't get kicked out of Cabot House. "And our guard with escort you off campus," he adds, staring pointedly at Eames.

 

Pride against swells in his chest when Eames offers Albert, and the guard, his most disarmingly charming smile. "Of course, of course," he says, hands raised as he moves forward to show he's not a threat, even though everyone knows he could break the guard's spine in half. "Sorry to be a bother. Arthur, darling, I'll see you later," he says, winking playfully in a way that makes Arthur grin because the alpha finally seems like his old self.

 

"Excuse me, my little petals," he says to the omegas, who titter in excited glee as they step aside for him like Moses parting the Red Sea. Arthur smirks as he watches Eames' confident, casual swagger as he walks through the crowd, the security guard close behind him, taser pointed at the alpha's back. But before they can escort him away, Eames turns one last time to look at Arthur. "By the way, I dreamed of you every night," he adds, in his insufferably sexy way, leaving Arthur blushing furiously, and smiling like a fool when he finally disappears down the hallway.

 

"Arthur, who is that?"

 

"Was that Eames?"

 

"Jesus, he's hot."

 

Arthur waves away the delirious barrage of questions and quickly shuts the door to drown out the nosy remarks. He feels too hot—like he always does when Eames is around him, and he's reminded again of the fact that his reaction to the alpha is muted by his suppressants, which raises the terrifying prospect of how he'll behave around Eames when he's not on medication. Still, he hurries over to the bed and bends down to sniff the sheets, which smell faintly of the alpha. He'll be able to wrap himself in Eames' scent tonight, and that thought comforts and turns him on tremendously. He wants to strip out of his clothes and cocoon himself in the sheets right then and there, but before he does that Arthur walks to the window and gazes outside.

 

He waits until Eames and the guard emerge from the building, and then he opens the window and sits on its sill, leaning forward a bit.

 

When Eames looks up at the building, he sees Arthur and grins up at him. Arthur waves, and in return, Eames blows him a kiss and then lays his hand over his heart. 

 

"Move," Arthur distinctly hears the guard spit at Eames.

 

"Oi," Eames says lightly, even as he turns to walk down the pathway. "Can't let a beautiful omega go to sleep unkissed, can I? Alpha's duty, mate."

 

Arthur laughs, and his face pulls in a tight, unfamiliar way, a reminder that he hasn't smiled like this in a very long time. In fact, no one makes him feel or act this way other than Eames, and that's always been the case—ever since they were little boys. Only Eames—his confident, charming, funny, and sweet alpha—makes him behave like this. He sits there on the sill for a while, watching Eames' figure grow smaller and smaller in the distance before he and the guard disappear around a building's corner.

 

Afterwards, Arthur shuts his window, strips out of his clothes, and lays in bed. He wraps himself in the sheets, and buries his face in the fabric so he can breathe in Eames' scent, and the second the alpha's pheromones flood his nostrils, he moans softly and turns onto his stomach. Blood quickly rushes south, making him hard instantly, and normally Arthur would jerk off, or grind his erection into the mattress until he comes, but he doesn't want to do that tonight. He wants Eames to make him come, and the realization that this exact scenario will happen soon makes his heart hammer in his chest, and his dick strain against his stomach.

 

They're going to mate soon because Eames will come back for him tomorrow, and they'll come up with a plan, and find a place to be alone together, somewhere private where Eames can claim him. The thought is an incredible turn on, and Arthur's hips buck against the bed, grinding his cock against the mattress. "Eames," he sighs, grabbing a fistful of the sheet and burying his face in it again. 

 

He imagines the alpha's weight draped against his back, powerful thighs framing him, and his dick…Arthur has imagined it many times, even though he's actually _seen_ it once or twice growing up—when they swam in the creek, and when Eames changed into dry clothes in his room afterward. But he's never seen the alpha naked and aroused. Arthur imagines what Eames' hard length will feel like buried inside him, or pressing against his tongue.

 

Swept up in the fantasy, Arthur bucks frantically against the bed and keens when he finally comes against the sheets. Afterwards, he lays in the mess, sheets torn off their corners and laying around him in a tangled nest. When he shifts, Arthur feels that his rear is soaked and leaking steadily onto the bed. He's going to have to entirely strip the mattress and wash everything tomorrow.

 

 _Tomorrow_.

 

Cheek pressed to his pillow, Arthur smiles. Tomorrow, he'll see Eames. His strong, beautiful alpha.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur has a plan, but he misses a couple details.
> 
> [Smut ahead]

Arthur barely sleeps.

 

The entire night, he imagines terrible scenarios for why Eames won't be there the next morning. A campus guard will chase him away, or Eames' parents will call the police on him (even though he's technically an adult now—maybe they'll report him as a deranged alpha, and Eames will be arrested, perhaps even euthanised). Eames will realise he's chased an omega halfway across the country, and he's behaving irrationally, and he'll decide to go home. It will dawn on Eames that Arthur is too skinny, or ugly, or socially awkward. He'll know Arthur is unworthy of him.

 

The fluid between his thighs has dried and now badly itches, so Arthur climbs out of bed, strips the sheets, and sneaks into the floor bathroom to take a quick shower. Then he changes into fresh pyjamas, sits at his desk, and flips open his laptop. When he opens his inbox, there's a new message from Eames. Heart in throat, Arthur quickly clicks it, and a bright smile breaks across his face when he sees the brief message: "Go to sleep, darling. I'll be there."

 

With that comforting knowledge tucked away, he closes his laptop, throws fresh sheets onto the mattress, and curls up for a few hours of sleep. 

 

The next time he wakes up, the room is flooded with light, and when he rolls onto his side, the alarm clock informs him it's 9:07AM. "Shit," Arthur gasps, diving out of bed to pull on the nearest garments from his closet, which ends up being jeans, a sweater, his jacket, and mismatched socks. Then he gets his toes into his Chucks, and sprints from the room. He'd planned on being outside much earlier—seven or eight, and even though he thinks Eames would wait for him, he curses himself as he flies down the stairs and explodes outside onto to the front patio.

 

Eames is sitting on one of the concrete benches, calmly looking at him. He has a napkin spread out beside him, two styrofoam cups and muffins keeping it from fluttering away. "I thought we could have a little picnic," he says, grinning, and very kindly not drawing attention to the fact that Arthur must look half-crazed with his bed head, hastily selected outfit, and wild light in his eyes. 

 

He walks up to to Eames and gently rests a hand on the top of his head to tilt back the alpha's chin. When he leans down to kiss him, Eames hums appreciatively and snags Arthur around the waist to pull him down onto his lap. As Eames' arms wrap around him, they fit together perfectly, and all of Arthur's self-conscious doubts fly out of his head. This is his mate. They're built for each other, and no one else. Coffee and muffins forgotten, they kiss for a long time, until someone wolf whistles at them, and Eames smiles against his mouth. By the time Arthur looks up, the whistler is long gone, but the moment is broken—probably for the best, considering Albert will bust an artery if he sees Arthur necking with Eames so soon after being disciplined.

 

"I got you blueberry," Eames explains, now ruffled and adorably flushed from the kiss. He offers up the pastry to Arthur, who grins wolfishly and accepts it, peels off the paper base, and takes a bite.

 

"Thanks," he says around the mouthful, relocating to the other side of their little picnic.

 

"Mhmm…" Eames responds, grinning cheekily when he picks up his tea and takes a sip.

 

He eats and Eames drinks quietly for a while, Arthur occasionally glancing at the front door in case Albert comes outside. They're not technically doing anything wrong as long as they remain outside Cabot House, but the last thing he needs is for Albert to call his parents and report his "inappropriate behavior" with an alpha. Omegas enter and leave the house, occasionally gazing curiously at them, but no one says anything. Generally speaking, omegas won't speak to a strange alpha, so Arthur thinks they're safe…for now.

 

"Did you really dream of me?" he asks eventually, once he's done with the muffin, and cradles the warm cup of coffee between his hands.

 

Eames hasn't touched his muffin, and Arthur again noticed how gaunt the alpha looks. He wonders if Eames hasn't been eating either. Taking a sip of tea, he hums affirmatively. "Bloody strange, too. Very vivid. They felt real."

 

Arthur nudges the muffin closer to him until it touches Eames' free hand. He notices, smirks, and sets down the cup so he can pick it up, peel off the paper and sink his teeth into the side. Satisfied, Arthur nods and sighs: "Me too. And I didn't eat much…It was awful." The pained expression returns to Eames' face, as it does whenever the alpha thinks of causing Arthur distress. He winces, as if he'd been struck, and sets down the muffin again. Eames chews slowly and gazes off into the distance thoughtfully. Arthur decides to change the subject: "Where are you staying?"

 

Switching topics works, and the agonised look vanishes from Eames' face. "Got a flat," he answers, smirking at Arthur's surprised look. " _And_ a job," he adds, not a little smugly. 

 

"Shut up," Arthur laughs, amazed. "Where?"

 

Eames shrugs modestly. "Just a garage. Fixing cars. Nothing big, but it'll pay the rent, and I can take you out," he adds, leaning forward and smiling in a way that Arthur finds very distracting. "Plus, I'm close to you now. I live right up Gardens Street. Ten minutes walk."

 

Arthur can't stop smiling. He's surprised, but pleasantly so. Plus, he feels self-righteous and vindicated. Arthur wants to call his father and rub all of these details in his face. He knew Eames would come up with a plan, and he has. He's so busy feeling victorious that he doesn't immediately notice the pleasant expression has vanished from Eames' face, and the alpha is now staring intensely at him.

 

"When can we be alone?" he asks, seemingly apropos of nothing, but Arthur knows what he means. He wants to touch and kiss Eames without fear of someone discovering and reporting them. Somehow, Arthur knows he'll feel so much better if they can be alone to behave freely. 

 

Arthur considers the question for a moment, but his face brightens when an idea occurs to him.

 

He knows exactly when they can be alone.

 

***

 

Winter break is next week: three glorious weeks of free time, and Arthur has already told his parents that he doesn't want to come home for break—much to his mother's distress. But Arthur doesn't think he could stomach seeing his father, so he's already applied to remain in residence (Harvard occasionally makes exceptions for students with special needs). Since Arthur already has an anxiety disorder noted in his file, he has secured permission to remain in his room throughout break.

 

Except, he's not going to stay in his room because nosy Albert will also be living in Cabot House during the holidays.

 

His Aunt Janine has an annual date with the tables in Atlantic City every winter season, and Arthur just so happens to know her apartment's vacancy coincides with his winter break. Arthur plans meticulously: he makes a spare key for Eames, buys groceries, and stocks up Janine's apartment so they won't have any reason to leave the place for weeks. He goes to the campus nurse and gets some free birth control. Then he moves back into the guest room and stops taking his suppressants.

 

Arthur texts his aunt: "Merry early Christmas. I love you," just to make sure she's actually on a bus heading to the casino.

 

"Thanks, honey. Wish me luck!" she responds.

 

Instead of answering, Arthur switches to his previous text with Eames and sends a message: "Come over now."

 

He miscalculates in only one way: Arthur thought he'd have much more time before the suppressants wear off and he goes into heat, but the change occurs almost immediately. It's intense—unlike any heat he's ever experienced, and Arthur wonders if it's because he's been close to Eames recently. He knows he's made a grave error when he can't move from the bed. Instead, he thrashes unthinkingly, lashing out, and hears something shatter beside his head. Maybe a vase, he reasons. He remembers having seen a porcelain vase by the bed at some point.

 

The room is sweltering, and the fabric of his t-shirt sticks to his chest, so he claws at it until he can yank it off his head, but that simple task takes all of his focus and strength, and he collapses to the bed, exhausted, afterwards. The air is thick like sand, and he can't pull enough of it into his lungs. Then there's the wetness—the incredible pulses of wetness that quickly soak him and release his pheromones into the air. Arthur can't smell himself, but alphas can, and he briefly worries about other alphas detecting him before Eames can get to the apartment. He tries to remember who his aunt's neighbors are—if he ever saw alphas hanging out in the hallway.

 

But he can't think. His hand grips between his legs, and Arthur feels that he's hard and straining against his jeans. He needs to get the denim away from his skin—every fabric feels like glass pressing against the pores—but his finer motor skills are gone, and he cant pinch the zipper or pop the button from the slot. Instead, he lays in the centre of the bed, writhing and groaning miserably at the ceiling. Everything hurts, and worse, there is a deep ache inside his body that he instinctively knows Eames can fix—if only he would come and take Arthur.

 

The minutes passing feel like hours. He's certain someone is choking him, but then Arthur realizes it's because he's shouting, perhaps gibberish, but maybe he's calling for Eames. His face is wet as he cries in frustration, and distantly he hears metallic churning, like gears turning in the hull of a ship. But that doesn't make sense. Arthur focuses on the sound, trying to parse it. Then, he comprehends it's _a key_. A key turning in a lock. Arthur gasps, overcome by relief. He starts crying again, but this time from happiness. _Eames_. 

 

The alpha's scent slams into him and Arthur groans in frustration. "Arthur," Eames mutters, voice filled with concern, and when he immediately touches his brow, that simple touch sends a jolt of electricity through him. Arthur reaches out, latching onto his wrist, and pulls roughly. "Easy, _easy_ ," Eames commands before laying atop him, which is when the alpha forgets he's trying to slow things down, and instead roughly kisses Arthur's mouth. He's dimly aware of certain obstacles: Eames' leather jacket, his jeans. Arthur paws dumbly at the fabric and then turns his face away so he can instead bury his nose and mouth against Eames' neck and breathe in his scent: the warm, thick musk, like a field after it rains.

 

Eames sheds his jacket in a flurry of movements, and when he returns, pins Arthur down—one hand on his brow, the other cupping his jaw. Arthur groans softly, but Eames silences him when he leans down to kiss him again. He parts his lips and Eames hums appreciatively, the hand at his jaw sliding down to grasp his throat gently, and then slide across his bare chest. This is, by far, the most intimate they've been, and Arthur wants to weep from joy that finally, _finally_ they're alone and can safely explore together.

 

His fingertips snake under the waistband of Eames' jeans, and stubbornly sneak south until the pads graze against the outline of his cock as it strains against the front of his underwear. He's seen Eames' cock a couple times, but only glimpses, and only when it was soft after they swam in the cold brook by his childhood home. Erect, Eames is very large, and Arthur moans softly in response to that fleeting touch. They separate when Eames gasps, hips jerking backwards, and he smirks, but Arthur can see his pupils are fully dilated. "Arthur…" Eames begins again, looking hesitant for some reason, and Arthur can't make sense of _why_ Eames isn't mauling him and tearing off their clothes. Thankfully, a few of his brain cells are still firing, and eventually supply the answer.

 

"M'on birth control," Arthur whispers, reaching for Eames' waistband again. 

 

"Oh, thank Christ," Eames rasps, diving down to bite at Arthur's throat. He yelps, but grips a fistful of the alpha's hair to keep him in place. From this angle, he can't yank down Eames' pants, but luckily the alpha seems determined to undress both of them without ever pulling away from sucking bruises into Arthur's pale flesh. He squirms and pulls until they're naked, and then Arthur gasps again when Eames lays atop him, his hard length pressed against his stomach, and then against his own erection, which is almost too much for Arthur. He cries out and pushes against the alpha's shoulders to create some space.

 

"Don't…I'll come," he pants, and then apologetically kisses Eames' swollen lips. They've been waiting for this for so long, and Arthur simultaneously wants to maul Eames, but also go slow enough to make it last. He can't look at Eames, powerful and devastatingly handsome braced above him, or he's going to come prematurely. In all of his wet dreams, Eames always took him in missionary position. Instead, he rolls onto his stomach and gets his knees under him.

 

He thinks back to the sex ed pamphlets distributed to them in high school with the diagrams of willing omegas on their hands and knees in front of alphas. Apparently, this is the best way for virgin omegas to rut—the least painful way for Eames to push into him. Eames must remember the same lesson because he immediately grips Arthur's hips and runs the head of his cock between the omega's spread cheeks. Arthur whimpers when the head grazes his wet entrance. He wants to tell Eames to be careful, to please go slow, but his tongue won't cooperate. 

 

On the white plain of the sheet, Eames' hand appears, palm turned upward.

 

Arthur takes the offering, clenching his mate's fingers, as Eames' free hand grips his hip and he eases forward. Arthur moans when the head breaches him, and squeezes Eames' fingers in warning. The alpha immediately stops, and makes soft, comforting sounds as he strokes Arthur's spine. He can tell Eames is barely restraining himself, judging by the ragged panting of his breath, and the way his body trembles at Arthur's back. And yet he waits for Arthur to relax just enough so he can push forward without hurting him. The stretch is immense—almost too much, but Arthur doesn't ask him to stop. He wants to accommodate Eames so badly—to make him happy by showing how they fit together perfectly.

 

At last, the alpha's hips press against his rear and Arthur exhales. He's tried to fantasise about this sensation a thousand times, and now he knows his imagination is no match for the reality of mating with Eames. Arthur is still squeezing Eames' hand, using it as an anchor so the alpha doesn't move just yet. If he thrusts, even only once, Arthur is going to come. He needs a second to calm down.

 

Eames knows this, and he clutches Arthur's hand in return, laying tender kisses along the back of his neck and between his shoulder blades. Neither of them can speak, but they don't need to. Eames knows what Arthur needs because they're mates—maybe they've always been mates, but Arthur just didn't know it.

 

When Arthur relaxes slightly, Eames moves his thighs to frame Arthur's legs, and leans forward to press against the omega's spine so he has better leverage to pull out slowly, and then press back inside. "Ah…" Arthur sighs, releasing Eames' hand so he can grab at the sheet. It feels incredible, even though they're going so slow because that throbbing pain deep inside his body is finally gone, replaced by a wonderful, glowing pulse of pleasure. "Oh God, Eames.." 

 

Rivulets of moisture run down his inner thighs, making the plunge easier for Eames, who seizes on the opportunity to lean back, grasp Arthur's waist, and thrust deeply into him. The change of angle and pace transforms everything, and Arthur cries out loudly—not from pain, but from the wave of ecstasy that crashes against him. Eames doesn't stop to check on him this time, and instead grasps his hips and fucks him hard. Arthur lets him, submitting by bowing his back and pressing his cheek against the mattress. Eames is strong—so strong, adrenaline surging through his veins as he ruts, hips clapping loudly against Arthur's rear, his cock making a lewd, wet sound as it claims him.

 

" _Fuck_ ," the alpha grunts, hand clapping against Arthur's rear, fingers digging into the flesh and pulling it aside. Arthur knows the alpha is watching his cock slide in and out of him, and the realization makes him tremble, another wave of moisture pouring out of him. His legs feel weak, so he doesn't resist when Eames pins him flat against the bed and plows him roughly. The alpha's breath is ragged, his body totally covering Arthur's as he grabs his wrists, his neck, anything to keep him in place. For the first time in months, he feels safe and complete—the nagging ache inside finally gone.

 

Arthur comes hard, moaning pitifully into the bed, his teeth biting at the sheet. He tenses up, and Eames shouts when his inner muscles clamp down on him. The alpha allows him to ride out the orgasm, and when he's finally pliant and sated beneath him, Eames bucks hard until he thrusts one final time and cries out. His hips keep Arthur pinned in place as the knot grows inside him. Arthur's eyes remain shut and he breathes steadily, reminding himself that this is normal—that Eames' cock won't split him in half like a wishbone. He knows what happens next, and that's the reason enduring the pain doesn't faze him. Eames is going to claim him fully soon, and then they'll be real mates.

 

When the alpha comes, Arthur moans in relief—not just because it means the knot is done growing, but because it means he really belongs to Eames now. He won't have to use suppressants because every alpha within a fifty mile radius will be able to smell that he's mated. When he goes into heat, he can go to Eames' apartment and they can rut until it passes. Eames moans throatily from behind him, nuzzling and kissing tenderly at the side of Arthur's face, coaxing so he turns slightly and they can kiss.

 

"I can't live without you either," Eames whispers hoarsely. "I love you."

 

The alpha wipes gently at his face, which is when Arthur realizes he's crying. "I love you too," he manages to reply.

 

***

 

When Eames is soft again, they separate and shower in the bathroom—together, for the first time ever, which is nice and fun, and feels pleasantly domestic. Not a lot of washing gets done, of course, but they do make out for ages under the warm spray. Everything feels very natural with Eames, and Arthur wonders how he walked around so obliviously all these years when his mate was within arm's reach. Afterwards, they eat a little bit of fruit that Arthur bought at the grocery store, and then fall into bed again.

 

They're necking, well on their way to working to a round two, when the familiar metallic churning fills the apartment again. Arthur barely has time to push Eames away and dart from the bed in a desperate search for his pants when his aunt's voice thunders down the hallway: "Arthur Levine! I'm going to kill you!"


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath

Arthur stubs his toe and bangs his elbow in the process of yanking on his pants. He swears beneath his breath, mind whirling as Eames rolls off the mattress and crosses the room, looking around for something—probably his jeans. He doesn't have time to pause and consult with the alpha because he runs from the room to meet his aunt halfway in the hallway before she sees anything too incriminating, even though she clearly already knows what's going on, judging by her tone, and the fact that no one in the vicinity of the apartment could miss the unmistakable scent of a mating alpha and omega.

 

"Have you lost your _mind_?" his aunt seethes, hair wild, eyes lit with rage. She's clutching her purse to her chest, and for a second, Arthur wants to ask what she's doing back from Atlantic City, but knows he's already in an epic amount of trouble, and drilling his aunt about why she's _inside her own apartment_ probably isn't the best strategy.

 

"Wait," Arthur says, holding up his hands in a passive gesture. "Let me explain."

 

"Explain _what_? How you're fucking some alpha in my guest room?!" she shouts.

 

Arthur blinks slowly, unsure of how to respond. He's never heard his aunt swear before, and that alone stuns him into silence.

 

From behind, Arthur hears Eames shift inside the guest room and walk towards him in the hallway. This is a bad, bad situation. He feels heady from the endorphins in his system, and knows for a fact Eames' adrenaline levels must still be through the roof. The alpha feels protective of him, and won't let anyone, not even Arthur's aunt, yell at him—even if she has very good cause to do so. Horrible images run through his mind: Eames putting his poor aunt through the wall, for starters.

 

"Don't talk to him that way," Eames growls, right on cue.

 

Arthur turns to the side, holding up a hand in Eames' direction so he's positioned directly between the alpha and his aunt. Janine looks at Eames like he's psychotic. "Well, _excuse_ me," she says, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Forgive my lack of manners. You must be the famous Eames, hm? Wonderful to finally meet you." Janine points a bony finger in Arthur's general direction. "You're in a heap of trouble, kid. I'm calling your mother," and with that, she turns and storms into the main room.

 

Arthur stays on her heels. " _Wait_ ," he begs, and in desperation he reaches out to grab his aunt's arm. She wheels around, but doesn't move to shove him, or peel his hand away. She's breathing hard, clearly furious, and Arthur knows she's not bluffing about calling his mom. "Please, don't call them. My dad will totally freak out. He won't pay my tuition," he rambles, immediately pulling out the big guns. Arthur knows his education is extremely important to Janine. He's hoping she won't sabotage it simply because she's feeling vindictive.

 

He can smell Eames is close at his back, looming just behind his shoulder, and he's terrified the alpha is going to do something irrational. Janine doesn't look impressed by his bartering, though some of the anger drains out of her as she looks at him. "Honey, I have to. Your mom would never forgive me if she knew I knew about this and didn't tell her," she sighs, and then she does push his hand away, but there's no hostility in the gesture. She looks a little fatigued over their fate.

 

The compassion in her eyes disappears when she looks over Arthur's shoulder to Eames. "I take it your homeless, huh? No lover's nest you could take him to?" she spits unkindly.

 

Eames is standing by the hallway entrance, clad in only his jeans. A muscle in his jaw tenses at the accusation. "I have a flat," he mutters. "Just moved in, though. Not set up for company."

 

" _Company_ ," Janine snorts, rolling her eyes. "Oh Jesus, kids. This is bad. This is _so_ bad," she sighs, walking into the kitchen, and picking up a fresh pack of cigarettes.

 

Arthur watches her light one of them, and then flop down at the kitchen table. She looks exhausted and ancient as she sucks on the cigarette. "Why are you back?" Arthur asks softly, figuring he has nothing to lose at this point.

 

Janine glares at him. "Forgot my goddamn casino vouchers. Been saving them all year, so I had to come back, so I did, only to discover that my sister's only child has turned my home into a brothel."

 

Arthur winces at his aunt's wording. He hates how she's making their healthy, loving relationship sound dirty and sordid. Eames apparently doesn't like it either because he walks forward to stand at Arthur's side. "It was my idea," he lies. "Make sure to tell Mr. Levine that. Arthur didn't want to do this."

 

"That's not true," Arthur says quickly because he can already envision his father calling the police on Eames for _abducting_ him. "It was my idea. I made him a spare key. I bought groceries. We were going to stay here over my break."

 

Janine glances back and forth at them, takes a drag, and slowly exhales the smoke through her nose. "Unbelievable," she mutters, tapping the cigarette on the side of the ashtray.

 

He feels about two inches tall standing there, all of a sudden aware of how dumb this whole plan was. Though he doesn't regret it, he's beginning to see himself through his aunt's eyes: a naive, foolish child who concocted a harebrained scheme to sneak his boyfriend into his aunt's home. "I was going to wash the sheets," he mumbles lamely, grasping at any trace of respectability in order to save himself.

 

Janine snorts. " _Sheets_? I'm going to have to get a new bed. I'll have to have the place professionally cleaned to get _his_ smell out," she says accusatorially, pointing the cigarette in Eames' direction.

 

Arthur never thought about that—of how pungent an alpha's scent is, how it seeps into every fabric and crevice of a home, and indeed how that is the scent's very purpose—to mark, and to claim a space as the alpha's. "I'm sorry. We didn't have anywhere else to go," he answers meekly, and his aunt genuinely looks sad as she gazes back at him.

 

"Honey, I wish I could help," she sighs, ash falling when she taps the cigarette against the ashtray again. "But I can't."

 

***

 

Janine at least lets them dress, gather their things, and leave before she places the phone call to Arthur's parents. He estimates that, at the most, he has an hour before his cell phone starts erupting, so they spend the time walking back to Eames' apartment. The alpha is clearly upset—at the idea that Arthur is about to get in some royal trouble, and also because he's self-conscious about his living situation.

 

"Why wouldn't you let me take the blame?" he grumbles, his miserable attitude belied by the fact that he's also holding Arthur's hand as they walk together.

 

"Because it's not true," he answers simply, flashing a weak smile Eames' way.

 

He doesn't want to lie or hide anymore, even if it means losing Harvard and his education. He's sick of feeling half-alive without Eames, and he refuses to hide their feelings for each other anymore.

 

Eames' apartment is small, but it's in a nice building nearby Cabot House. The alpha stands awkwardly in the studio apartment, murmuring excuses for everything. He has no furniture, other than a mattress, which rests in the corner of the room. There's no box spring, or headboard, or curtains. The bathroom is also bare, as is the kitchen. Arthur can understand why the alpha was paranoid about letting him see the place at all, but right now, he thinks it's perfect because Eames is here with him, and they have privacy.

 

"We should have just come here," Arthur says, flopping down on the bed and smirking up at Eames.

 

Eames doesn't smile. Instead, he walks across the room and sits beside Arthur. When he cradles the omega's hands, he looks terribly grave. "Didn't want your first time to be here," he admits quietly, and it's such a sweet confession that Arthur immediately feels tears well up in his eyes.

 

But he doesn't want to cry, so he undercuts the moment with a sarcastic remark: "You wanted my first time to be in my aunt's apartment?"

 

Eames smirks and dives forward, grabbing Arthur and wrestling him to the bed. He bursts out laughing when the alpha tickles his sides. "You know what I mean, you brat," Eames says, grinning as they grapple for position. Not that it's much of a contest. He easily pins Arthur's wrists above his head, and smiles down at the omega triumphantly. "In a proper bed, in a real home."

 

Arthur doesn't know what to say, but he can't stop looking at Eames' mouth, and luckily the alpha appears to be on the same wavelength because a moment later he leans down to seal their lips together. When he hums happily, Eames releases his wrists, and Arthur winds his arms around the alpha's neck to keep him secured in place. By his calculations, they have just enough time for a quickie before his dad calls and completely ruins his life. "We'll have a home one day," Arthur whispers after they eventually come up for air. 

 

"Mhm…" Eames agrees, a hand drifting up to smooth the fringe from Arthur's brow. "And babies running about."

 

Arthur smiles. He likes when they talk about the future like this. It makes everything else seem small and incidental. "How many?"

 

"As many as you'll allow," Eames whispers, leaning down to kiss him again.

 

***

 

His dad calls afterwards—after their quick tumble, and a hasty shower, when they're sitting in the centre of the room air-drying because Eames doesn't have any towels yet. The conversation is short. Very short.

 

"Hello?" Arthur asks softly, wincing preemptively.

 

"We'll be there on Thursday," is the curt reply.

 

 

***

 

Eames wants to meet his parents with Arthur, but he quickly squashes that idea after a vision of his father and Eames brawling on the quad enters his mind. He appreciates the offer, but this is going to be painful enough without worrying about his parents calling the authorities on Eames. Thursday morning, he gets up early to shower and dress in an outfit that he hopes will make him look respectable and mature, and not like some dumb little kid with a crush.

 

His dad texts when they're on their way to Cabot House, and Arthur walks downstairs and outside to meet them. "Hey," he greets timidly as they approach. He feels like he hasn't seen his parents in years, and he's surprised by how frail and old they look. Vaguely, Arthur feels guilty, and wonders if the news from Janine so badly rattled his parents that they prematurely aged. 

 

His mom flashes him a weak smile. "Hey, baby," she whispers, leaning up to kiss him on the cheek when he hugs her.

 

When Arthur looks at his father, the greeting is less warm. "Arthur," his dad says, hands stuffed in the pocket of his jacket.

 

The temperature is mild enough outside that they decide to sit on one of the benches in front of Cabot—the very same spot he sat with Eames when they had their spontaneous breakfast a few weeks ago. He's struck by the irony of their location, but doesn't think his parents will appreciate it if he mentions this fact, so he's quiet when they settle together—his father, mother wedged in the middle, and Arthur at her other flank, as far away from his father as he can manage.

 

"So, what do you have to say for yourself?" his father's voice asks, a harsh contrast to the serenity of the campus in the early hours.

 

Arthur leans forward to look at him. His mother tenses and gazes down at her hands, which remain folded on her lap. He knows that his father wants him to apologize and grovel, but he's not sorry that he's still seeing Eames, and he's not going to beg for forgiveness over something that feels as natural as waking up in the morning. Arthur is an omega, and Eames is his mate, and he's tired of his father trying to force them apart.

 

"I'm sorry I disrespected Aunt Janine," he answers truthfully, because he is sorry his aunt got dragged into the middle of this.

 

His father also leans forward and turns towards him. It's an offensive position, and his mother immediately moves to touch his shoulder in a soothing gesture, perhaps sensing that emotions are about to escalate. "That's it?" his father spits. "What about lying to your mother and me?"

 

"I didn't lie," Arthur says defensively.

 

His father's glare makes Arthur shrink back in his seat. "Withholding information is the same as lying, Arthur. You know we don't want you seeing Eames."

 

Arthur's heart hammers in his chest as he looks back and forth at his parents. He keeps waiting for his father to drop the bomb—that he's no longer going to pay his tuition, and all his hard work will have been for nothing. He thinks back to the sleepless nights spent studying, worrying endlessly about Eames, how he stopped _eating_ , and lost too much weight…

 

And then Arthur gets mad.

 

"I've been working my _ass_ off," he hisses, tone so frigid that his parents look genuinely surprised. His mother's eyes widen, and his father stares at him in amazement, mouth slightly agape. "I'm top of every class. You want to know why I didn't write or call for months? Because I was depressed. I stopped eating," he spits. He hears his mother make a soft, distressed sound at that confession, but he doesn't dare look at her. Arthur's gaze is fixated on his father. "And I still got good marks. But I hated every minute of it, and then Eames found me, and I felt better. I'm _happy_ now, and you don't even care."

 

His father looks bewildered at his words. "Of course I care if you're happy. Why do you think I want you to do well in school?"

 

"Well, you have a weird way of showing it," Arthur snorts derisively. "Keeping me from my mate."

 

"Stop being so dramatic. God forbid we think about your future," his father answers, voice raising, the vein on the side of his neck engorging as it always does whenever he's really angry.

 

Arthur is so swept up in focusing on his father's wrath that he barely hear his mother intervene. But she keeps repeating the same thing over and over, and finally it breaks through to Arthur. "Your mate?" she asks, eyes wide and shining, and Arthur eventually realizes that his mother is about to cry. "He's your mate?"

 

Unbelievably, his parents look surprised, like they were unaware of this fact. What did they think the past year, year-and-a-half has been about? Arthur being oversexed and chasing a good-looking alpha? "Of course he's my mate." He remembers laying with Eames in his childhood room, gazing at the glow-in-the-dark stars affixed to his ceiling, and playing by the creek, and Eames being his best friend, even when he was popular, and Arthur was not. "He's always been my mate."

 

Arthur doesn't want to see the tears streaming down his mother's face because they'll make him feel guilty, and then he'll soften, and forget to be furious at his parents, particularly his father. He doesn't want to care if they cry, but he does. He still loves his parents, even though they've put him through hell lately. "Oh, Arthur," his mother gasps suddenly, crumbling right before his eyes.

 

It's too much. Seeing his mother upset has always been something of a trigger for Arthur, and hot tears quickly well up in his eyes, his throat constricting. "I don't know what you want me to do. I do well in school, I'm doing really well in Chemistry, but it's never enough. You hate this part of me, and it's killing me," he rambles—giving voice to how he actually feels for the first time ever, and it's such an enormous release that the tears finally spill forth and run down his face.

 

He almost died. He almost died because his parents made him leave Eames.

 

"We don't hate you," he hears his father say, but he sounds very far away. Arthur's heart is pounding in his ears. Now that he's crying, he can't stop, and he's dimly aware his mother is touching his back and telling him to breathe.

 

Arthur pleads: "Please stop punishing me for loving him."

 

He clings to his mother when she pulls him (with surprising strength) into her arms and hugs him tightly. "Honey, please," she whispers, rubbing his back in large, comforting circles. It occurs to him that he's having a panic attack. He's going to lose everything: Eames, Harvard, and his parent's respect in one fell swoop. 

 

The embrace around him tightens suddenly, and when Arthur looks up, he sees his father has his arms wrapped around both him and his mother in an awkward hug. It's such a strange, unexpected sight that Arthur immediately stops hyperventilating and freezes. "Arthur, I didn't know," his father says, gripping his shoulder tightly. "I didn't know how bad it was. If I had—" his dad shakes his head, and Arthur realizes his dad is trying not to cry.

 

He's never seen his father cry.

 

"I just want you to be happy," his father eventually manages to say. 

 

They stay like that for a while, even though it isn't comfortable for any of them, and they probably look like a weird spectacle to any passersby—even when Arthur isn't crying anymore, nor is his mother. They keep holding him, and Arthur knows this is their apology—for not asking him more questions, for assuming so much (so incorrectly) about him and Eames.

 

"Eames makes me happy," he eventually says.

 

Arthur keeps his cheek pressed to his mother's shoulder and refuses to look his parents in their faces. He doesn't want to see the moment of rejection when they roll their eyes, or share a knowing glance, engaging in a silent conversation about their foolish son.

 

But that moment never comes.

 

Instead, his father answers: "Okay."

 

And it's as good as a banner dropping, and balloons raining down from the ceiling.

 

_Welcome to the family, Eames_

 

***

 

The wound between Eames and his father doesn't heal overnight. Eames has to prove himself in degrees. He holds the job at the garage, and is quickly promoted to shop manager, even though he's young and new to the business. He spruces up his flat, and Arthur helps until it's actually kind of homey and lovely. Most importantly, it's theirs. Arthur spends a lot of time at the apartment, and he makes sure to study his ass off, so his parents never have ammunition to use against them.

 

But his parents are generally more supportive these days. They stop exchanging worried glances when he and Eames talk about the future, including marriage and children. Eventually, their enthusiasm rubs off on his mother, who one day concedes, "You'll have very beautiful children," and Arthur nearly falls out of his seat in surprise.

 

After Eames shares news of his promotion, and Arthur shows them photos from their weekend trip to upstate New York, his father nods approvingly and even claps Eames on the shoulder. "You're being very responsible, son. We're proud of you."

 

Arthur doesn't think Eames will stop smiling for weeks. He's finally proven himself, and Arthur's parents think he's worthy of their son.

 

When his parents leave the apartment, Eames is still buzzing with excitement, and he picks up Arthur from the floor like he weighs nothing. Arthur makes an undignified sound that may or may not be a squeak, and flails until he can wrap his legs around the alpha's waist and cling to his neck. He's eye level with Eames in this position, and the alpha smirks triumphantly at him.

 

"Oh, shut up. Remember, they hated you for a long time," Arthur chuckles.

 

Nothing can diminish Eames joy, though. He slowly walks them towards the bed, which now rests atop a box spring, and is attached to a nice wooden headboard. "Rightfully so. I've been trying to impregnate their brilliant son," he answers cheekily, brows quirked in a way that makes Arthur burst out laughing.

 

"Um, I _am_ on birth control, you know," he says, grinning when Eames carefully lowers him onto the bed and climbs atop him. Arthur reaches up to touch the sides of the alpha's face, carefully tracing the angles of his cheekbones.

 

Eames leans down to kiss a trail from his collarbone up the side of his neck. His breath is warm on his ear, and the lovely lilt of his voice makes Arthur shiver. "Ah, but we must practice."

 

Arthur tries to look very bookish and scholarly when he seriously nods, but his lips are quirked at the corners, dimples indenting his cheeks. "We must," he answers, pulling Eames down so they can kiss properly.

**Author's Note:**

> follow me: http://theaoidos.tumblr.com/


End file.
